


Secrets

by BrynTWedge



Series: Paths Walked Together [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anxiety, Caring Greg Lestrade, Depressed Greg, Depressed Mycroft, Depression, Greg helps Sherlock, Greg is Sweet, History, Lestrade-centric, M/M, Married Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Mycroft Feels, Mycroft IS the British Government, Poor Lestrade, Poor Mycroft, Repressed John, Secrets, Sherlock Holmes Loves John Watson, Suicidal Ideation, married, past problems
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-01-22 08:59:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 52,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12478012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrynTWedge/pseuds/BrynTWedge
Summary: The closer they get, the harder it is to keep their secrets.Greg and Mycroft try to begin their new lives together, but problems of the past continue to resurface... for everyone. Mycroft finds that he has to let go of Sherlock to now live his own life happily with Greg, and Greg tries his best to keep his little family together when things go from bad to worse.





	1. We All Have Secrets

Mycroft felt too nauseous to stand. He didn’t even care if he wasn’t presenting as the omnipotent older brother anymore. He just felt guilt. He’d been so wrapped up in his own happiness since getting engaged that he didn’t remember to tell his team to check up with Sherlock occasionally. He’d trusted Gregory’s advice to leave Sherlock to be an adult and make good decisions. He’d thought that John being back from his honeymoon would have helped. 

But no. His world swirled around him once he’d gotten that phone call from John. Sherlock, found in a drug den… by accident. He should have been watching. He should have known Sherlock would have drowned instead of choosing to swim, as always. He knew it wasn’t Gregory’s fault, but he couldn’t help but feel some resentment towards him about it. He knew it’d pass, he loved the man after all… it was just… all very overwhelming. 

He sighed as he remained seated on the stairs. John would be bringing Sherlock there soon. Mycroft had called Anderson, the only man he knew that not only knew what he was looking for, but would willingly and somewhat respectfully inspect Sherlock’s toxic waste dump of a flat. And, of course, not alert the authorities. Anderson had arrived with a few of his members of his little fan club, two of which left fairly quickly. Mycroft just remained seated on the stairs, lost in his own thoughts.  
_It’s my fault. I knew this would happen. I should be responsible for him. This is worse thanthat time after the Georgia incident… I wasn’t away from him by obligation. I chose to be away because I was too busy being happy in my own life._

As soon as Mycroft saw the men pile into the entranceway, his stomach dropped. And suddenly he was angry. All of the hurt and betrayal of the trust he’d placed in Sherlock bubbled through as anger. He took a breath and put a lid on it, knowing getting angry wouldn’t do anyone any good. But he suddenly found his voice enough to make scolding remarks. And he was just a _little_ bit indignant that no one made comment on his new shiny ring. 

Mycroft noticed Sherlock’s door closed. He got the overwhelming feeling to make his little brother hurt … he was obviously still in love with John, who was standing in the room, and the most likely explanation for the door being shut was Sherlock having a boy in there hiding away from the commotion. The flat itself showed enough evidence of cohabitation to a degree. But it was obviously not anything serious or emotional for Sherlock. Acting out, perhaps? Or gaining some experience, maybe? 

He was ready to spill the beans when Sherlock said Magnussen’s name. Mycroft’s blood ran cold.  
_No. No, no._

He turned onto Anderson and his girlfriend, all but bore his teeth at them, and enjoyed watching them scamper away. He did not enjoy John’s insubordination to his authority. But he chose to ignore it to get Sherlock to back down… which he didn’t. 

Mycroft knew he couldn’t tell Sherlock _why_ he had to drop it… how could he even begin? Magnussen knew the truth about Redbeard and Eurus, and that was not something he could risk being spilled. He had an agreement with the man, one that was greatly more beneficial to him than Mycroft, but it had meant that Sherlock was safe from himself. It was a delicate, and dangerous, situation. 

He didn’t want to leave, but Sherlock made it rather evident that there was no talking to him in this state. He snarled inwardly at John, and then left. At least there was a nasty surprise awaiting him in a few moments. 

Mycroft needed to have a few words with his surveillance team, and then with Lady Smallwood. It was no coincidence that just weeks after the inquiry she was conducting on Magnussen, Sherlock was on his case. 

And then he just wanted to go home. He needed a hug from his fiancé. Unfortunately, Gregory was at work until the evening. 

~

Mycroft sat in his chair and swirled the amber liquid in the tumbler in his hand. He didn’t know what he was going to do. Sherlock was obviously not going to drop the case. Lady Smallwood had admitted that she’d asked Sherlock to get her husband’s letters back. He was downright livid. If he could have, he’d have made her disappear… very quickly. But she was the same level as he was, and there was nothing he could do. 

“Myc! I’m home!” Gregory’s voice resounded down the corridor. Mycroft didn’t respond. He heard the man drop his bag by the door and walk towards the living room.  
“Myc? You here?” 

Mycroft didn’t respond again. Gregory appeared in the entrance to the living room, but he didn’t look up to him. He just sipped his drink again. Greg frowned when he saw his fiancé sitting in his chair, drinking. Something was wrong. His heart twisted, and he walked up to face him. 

“Myc? What’s happened?” Greg asked with concern. There was no response. Greg used his hand to cup Mycroft’s chin and lift it in his direction. The man’s blue eyes were dazed, slowly moving to meet Greg’s own. Greg knelt down so he was at eye level with Mycroft. 

“Mycroft, talk to me.” 

Mycroft took a deep breath and sighed.   
“Gregory, my love… it’s not been a good day.”  
“I gathered. What happened?”  
“It… it was Sherlock.” 

Greg’s stomach flipped. He remained still as he listened to Mycroft talk about how Sherlock had gone back to drugs, about how he’d felt like a failure and regretted not watching him. Greg felt guilty about being so forceful at making Mycroft take a step back from his brother… but he’d honestly believed that Sherlock would be able to stand on his own. Mycroft then told him how it had been for a case… how Sherlock willingly put himself in danger, again, for a case. And that he desperately wanted Sherlock to just drop it and leave. 

“What’s the case?” Greg asked.   
“I can’t tell you whom, but I can tell you that one of my colleagues approached Sherlock in order to act as an intermediary for something in this person’s possession that my colleague wants back.”  
“That… that doesn’t sound like Sherlock’s usual cases, why did he take it on?”  
“… I can only assume because it’s dangerous. So very dangerous. I… I can’t protect him, Gregory… I didn’t! This is worse than Georgia, because he started this while I was just too busy being happy, and I can’t stop thinking that I …”

Greg moved up and held Mycroft, hushing him gently. The man’s head rested into Greg’s middle as Greg softly stroked his head.  
“It’ll be alright. It’s not your fault, Myc, for letting him be an adult. You’re not to blame, and you’re certainly not to feel guilty for being happy and having your own life.”

Mycroft didn’t respond. Gregory knew him better than anyone, didn’t demand to know the answers to everything, and cared more than anyone. And that’s why he was going to marry the man. He felt somewhat comforted, but couldn’t stop the dread.   
“Something terrible is going to happen, Gregory. I just know it.”  
“We’ll do what we can, yeah? Terrible things happen. But we’ll all work together and sort it out, alright? You’re not alone in this anymore, you don’t have to carry the burden of what happens to Sherlock yourself.”

Greg kissed Mycroft on the top of his head.  
“Come on, why don’t we go up to bed? Then I can hold you closer.” 

Mycroft nodded, and stood. Greg still hugged him.  
“I’m so very grateful to have you.” Mycroft spoke. He already was feeling a lot better. But guilt still pulled at his gut. 

Once they were laying together in bed, in the soft light, Mycroft felt calmer. But his mind wouldn’t stop nagging him that secrets were going to be spilled, and he’d promised to try and not keep so many secrets from Gregory. 

“Gregory?”  
“Yes dear?”  
“I… I still have secrets from you.”  
“I know. We all have secrets, Myc.”  
“But one of them, the biggest and darkest one of all, is likely going to be revealed… and I so want to tell you it all before it does, but I … I can’t.”  
“You’ve already told me a little about your suicide attempt, dear. I am happy to hear what I can about the details, something about Georgia I’m assuming? But don’t feel obliged to tell me everything. I have just accepted that there are things you can’t tell me, you know, state secrets and all that.”

Mycroft frowned. Gregory thought his biggest secret was his attempted suicide? He didn’t know what to say to that. Yes, it was a memory he kept hidden deep down in his mind, locked away, and he might call it _his_ ‘darkest’, but it wasn’t the biggest one. And should he mention that he was permitted to share a great deal more with Gregory now that they were engaged? Gregory already had a much higher security clearance than most DCIs, thanks to his involvement with both Sherlock and himself, but recently the paperwork had been cleared for him to know a great deal more. 

“I… you… you’ve been granted a higher level of security clearance. I can tell you more details now.”  
“Oh, great. Thanks?”  
“But perhaps not now. Now I think we should just find something for dinner.” Mycroft spoke. He knew he was chickening out, but didn’t feel up to talking. He’ll just let Gregory believe he was talking about Georgia and his attempt. It wasn’t like that all was going to be relevant any time soon. 

The pair left the room and walked downstairs into the kitchen. Greg had started to teach Mycroft a thing or two about cooking, and so they both worked on preparing a vegetable stir fry. Greg had given up on trying to tell Mycroft that it really didn’t matter if all the carrot pieces were the same size, and just let him spend extra time cutting the vegetables. 

Greg got the wok out and turned the gas on, and Mycroft went to get the soy sauce from the pantry. He heard Mycroft’s phone ring, and then there was silence. Greg had a bad feeling in his stomach. Then he heard a glass bottle smash on the floor. Yes, something was definitely wrong. Mycroft reappeared from the walk-in pantry, pale as a sheet and eyes in a panic. 

“Myc? What is it?”   
“We have to go. Sherlock’s been shot. He’s… he’s…” Mycroft managed to get out of his mouth, before turning on the spot and running.  
“Fuck.” Greg exclaimed, turning the gas off and following Mycroft to the doorway. 


	2. Waiting Room, Again

Greg cradled his fiancé in his arms as they waited. Mycroft wasn’t coping. The staff had given him a shock blanket, and he’d accepted it without opposition. John wasn’t faring much better; he was sitting beside Mycroft, shaking gently. Greg hadn’t been able to get much out of him, just that they were in Magnussen’s office, and Sherlock had been shot. And, of course, that they were losing him on the way over. 

Mycroft had been notified by his team, and so he and Greg had arrived at the hospital not long after John and Sherlock had. Greg was in shock about it all too, but couldn’t imagine what Mycroft was going through. They’d had scares before, but it had been about drugs. Somehow it had seemed less life threatening than a bullet to the chest. Greg eyed over to John, whom seemed to be pleading in his head for Sherlock to live. He looked down at Mycroft; he was still not with it. His eyes were unfocused and stared straight ahead. He’d not responded to any questions asked to him. It was like he was just… not there, his mind stuck somewhere else. Greg wasn’t sure if it was a coping mechanism, or just reliving past memories. But he wasn’t in much of a state to question it. 

John seemed frustrated with the lack of news, but looked like he was scared to find anything out. He’d been there in the ambulance. He was a doctor. He knew exactly what the prognosis was. Greg didn’t like looking at him for the simple fact that his face told him that in all likelihood, Sherlock wasn’t going to make it. 

Mycroft’s phone rang, but he didn’t seem to be able to hear it.   
“Myc, you might need to answer that.” Greg said softly, patting his back a few times. Still no response. Greg slid his hand into Mycroft’s pocket without resistance, and pulled out the phone. He didn’t care about if he wasn’t supposed to answer it or not, he just did. 

“Mr Holmes’ phone, Lestrade speaking.”   
“Where is Mr Holmes?” The caller asked instantly.   
“He is … unable to answer the phone right now.” Greg said, looking at Mycroft’s distant stare.   
“We have some more information that he will want to know regarding the shooting.” 

Greg swallowed uncertainly. Yes, Mycroft would want to know.   
“Erm… just give me a minute, will you? I’ll see if he can answer.” Greg said hesitantly, and put the phone on mute.   
“Mycroft?” Greg asked gently, placing his hands on either side of the man’s face, “You need to take this call, ok? It’s about Sherlock.” 

Mycroft seemed to register his brother’s name, and moved to look at Greg directly. He nodded. Greg grabbed the phone, put it off mute, and handed Mycroft the phone. 

“Holmes.”   
“Mr Holmes, we have confirmed from Mr Magnussen the identity of the shooter. He was being threatened by a Ms Mary Morstan, who then shot Sherlock Holmes once discovered.” 

Mycroft paled even further, if it were even possible, and dropped his phone to the ground. Greg frowned in concern, and picked up the phone.   
“Um, thanks, bye.” He muttered quickly to the caller and hung up. He then turned his attention to Mycroft. 

“Myc, what did he say?”  
“I…it’s… it’s my fault.” Mycroft managed to utter.   
“No, no Myc, it’s not.”

Mycroft looked up at Greg with large, wet, pleading eyes.   
“Yes…oh god, Gregory…it’s my fault.” 

Before Greg could argue even more, a doctor appeared before them. He informed them that they had managed to resuscitate Sherlock and he was currently in a stable, albeit critical, condition. John immediately demanded to see him, but the doctor was unsure. The poor man was then subject to an onslaught from Captain Watson. He reluctantly allowed John to go in, and offered for any ‘other’ family members to join. Strangely, Mycroft refused. Greg told John they’d seem soon. 

“Myc, what’s going on?”  
“I … I need to tell you what happened all those years ago. It won’t stop flashing before my eyes. And now…it’s relevant. Before, it… it was just me, trying to tell myself… I do have a purpose, that you still need me even if Sherlock… so I couldn’t just… but now…she… I knew, and now I… I…” Mycroft spoke, and began to shake and heave for air. 

Greg held on to him tightly, and tried to help as best he could. He was relieved that Sherlock was alive, and going to be ok, but he was still worried for Mycroft. 

Greg stood, and Mycroft absent-mindedly reached out to grab him. Greg kissed him on the forehead and said he’d be back soon, and went to the nurse’s station to request a room. Annoyingly, even though Mycroft was clearly having a panic attack or breakdown or something, the nurses refused to allow them to have a room. Apparently being in that much shock wasn’t considered important enough to warrant admission to the hospital. Greg argued that he didn’t need to be admitted, just given some private space to cope for an hour, but they shooed him away. 

Greg returned to Mycroft, disgruntled. But he wasn’t ready to give up. His fiancé needed him. He picked up Mycroft’s phone, and after getting Mycroft to unlock it, found Anthea’s number. He called and told her the situation, and she assured him that she’d take care of it. It wasn’t ten minutes later that a (different) nurse approached them and escorted them to a private room. 

Greg tried to get Mycroft to lay in the bed, but he was refusing. Greg had to be unwillingly forceful about the matter, and Mycroft didn’t have the strength to refuse. And so Greg took the chair that was beside the head of the bed, and held tightly onto Mycroft’s hand. 

“Gregory…” Mycroft began, swallowing and screwing up his face, “I have spent so long ignoring the day I decided to end my life that I forgot about the events leading up to it. And now it’s gone and gotten Sherlock almost killed. And I almost lost my purpose again… if …if I didn’t have you, and I lost him… I’d have no reason to be anymore.”

Greg said nothing and just waited for Mycroft to continue talking, stroking his hand softly. He didn’t like hearing that Mycroft was hinting at suicide again, but he couldn’t blame him. He knew himself that those thoughts don’t just go away. Things might get better, you might change and move on, find things to live for, be happy… but the thoughts creep back in when you fall back down again regardless of anything else in life. 

“It was only a couple of months after you met Sherlock for the first time…” Mycroft began, and suddenly found himself reliving the moments as if he was actually there. He could see it before him, and even though he was still speaking about it to Gregory, he was lost in the memories as they unfolded before him.


	3. Mycroft's Darkest Secret

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is Mycroft retelling the story of his suicide attempt that he mentioned. I have written out a detailed version of it, set as it's all happening: [Mycroft's Darkest Secret](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12390021/chapters/28189926)

“I was depressed, I knew I was…but there wasn’t anything I could do about it. You might not believe it, Gregory, but I didn’t always like my job. Hell, I didn’t even choose it. My uncle Rudy suddenly thrust me into it. There was … an incident, regarding my family. Something that I couldn’t escape. I suddenly found myself in a world I didn’t recognise, keeping secrets from everyone I cared about. But I couldn’t stop, I had to protect them.”  
“When was this?” Greg asked, seeing the distant look on Mycroft’s face.   
“I was… sixteen I believe. Almost seventeen.”   
“You… you were _sixteen_ when you were roped into the Secret Service?”  
“Yes.” 

Greg couldn’t believe it. He hadn’t really thought about how Mycroft had gotten the job he had, but he’d at least always assumed he’d chosen it. Mycroft’s words were painful, and heartfelt, when he continued. He talked of feeling perpetually tired, anhedonic, and lost. He’d been in the system for a long time, but was still always frustrated at how he was never allowed to know all of the information he needed to do his job properly. Greg knew Mycroft was something of a control freak, and could imagine how unsettled the man would be not able to know everything about what he was doing. 

“My superiors liked me, since I was able to do the work well. By this stage, I hadn’t done field work for many years. I never liked it. But I was still taken away at a moment’s notice to a foreign country or into the depths of the department to work on something for days at a time. It was very stressful to work under those conditions, when I needed to be there for Sherlock. Really, the only benefit of the job was that I was permitted to use their resources to keep an eye on Sherlock and to ‘assist’ with any transgressions he’d make in the eyes of the law.”  
“I always thought you’d had something to do with that.”

“Indeed. Anyway, I was working on a big mission in Georgia. I hated that I didn’t know what it was exactly I was working on. I knew it was important, and that many lives depended on what I was doing. I was stuck in their dungeon of an office for three days straight meticulously planning out every eventuality, every action of our team, to get the situation under control. I was worn out, and even though sleep never really came well to me, I was so exhausted I just wanted to rest. And I as worried for Sherlock. 

“This was the point in time when he was trying to get clean so he could go on cases with you. But he, as you probably recall, didn’t manage that very well. Once I had gotten home to the flat, finally, I checked in with him. As usual, he was telling me how unwanted I was, and to leave him alone. But he was in withdrawal, and being extra antagonistic with his comments. I just took it and told him I’d always be there for him, and ended up falling asleep. I couldn’t tell him that he was all that was keeping me going, and that I couldn’t just leave him be… he was the only purpose I had in my life to keep living. He never did take burden very well, and I knew exactly what it was like to have it thrust upon one unwillingly. And so I’d never tell him, he just wouldn’t cope with that. 

“I was so unbelievably alone, Gregory. I just felt … Sherlock didn’t want me, and I didn’t speak much with my parents for reasons I can’t get into… and I spent my days alone in my office, doing the work I was assigned, doing what I could to make things better for others. I didn’t have the manor then, I didn’t see the point. Not when I spent all my day at work. I wanted to get out, but knew there wasn’t any way to do that. I couldn’t just leave my job, I had responsibilities… and I couldn’t just abandon the work. This job is all I’ve ever known, and I couldn’t give that up. But I was just so _tired_ of it all. Tired of the secrets, tired of the control being out of my hands, but still making life and death decisions daily. Tired of never being allowed to care about what I was doing, because caring wasn’t an advantage. Caring got people killed, caring made people make mistakes. I had to develop my icy exterior just to cope with it all. I’d gotten pretty good at it by that stage, and was feeling like that icy façade was all I had left of me. The rest was just a pit of darkness. 

“But then things went wrong. The situation in Georgia collapsed, and I was asked to go in to collect the surviving member of the special agent team we’d sent in. Freelancers, four of them. We’d been told that one member had survived, and so it fell to me to get them back out again. I didn’t even get a chance to tell Sherlock I was going… I was shipped off then and there. At least once I’d found the AGRA team member, I could go home.”

“Did you find them?”  
“Yes, quite quickly actually. And it was a good thing for her, since she might have died there forgotten. Her injuries were minor, but still… anything could have happened. It was… awful. Bodies everywhere, pieces of bodies everywhere, blood… the stench of it all made me sick. But I felt so detached from everything I just kept going. I never was one with a stomach for that kind of thing. I brought the woman back to London, and organised for her to be reintegrated into society. She was thankful, and even told me that it wasn’t my fault that it all went to hell… even though I blamed myself. It was strange, to have someone so deadly, such a skilled killer, laying before me telling me I was a good man. I couldn’t believe her.”  
“You are, Myc.” Greg reinforced, gripping tighter onto Mycroft’s hand. Mycroft ignored it. 

“Once I got back… it was my worst nightmare. The department I had assigned to watch Sherlock had elected that they had better things to do, despite it being direct orders, and lost him. I panicked. I didn’t know what to do… so I did the first thing I could think of. I went to his known dens to find him. The first one came up empty, as did the second. And then I got a phone call that Sherlock was in the hospital. 

“I’d almost lost him. And the job I’d taken to protect my family was the reason I wasn’t there for him. It crushed me to hear his voicemail, saying that he was trying to call out to me for help, and I wasn’t there for him. I stood over his bed, and I felt utterly broken. My purpose was almost taken from me and it was my fault. All those people I’d come from… my fault. Sherlock had you, Gregory, to look after him, and so didn’t need me interfering in his life anymore. It was what he wanted, he’d told me enough. And you were doing a better job than I was. 

“I… I didn’t even know I’d decided to do it until I started saying goodbye to him. I told him he might be sad for a while, but it’d be ok. He had you. You’d get him through and then he’ll be better for it. I told him I loved him, but then he woke up. At least I got to say goodbye to him. And then I ran into you, and decided I might as well give you my number since I wasn’t going to be using it anymore, and told you to take care of him.”  
“I… I remember.” 

“I sorted out my things at work ready for my death, I even filled in the death certificate for people ready to sign. And then I went home. It took me a while to go through my head on how I was going to do it. Eventually I had a plan, but sadly it was already midnight and so I had to wait until morning to buy the items. I did my research on how to make it as effective as possible, I constructed the circuit, and just sat there looking at it ready for a while. I’ll admit I got scared, then. I mean… I knew death came for everyone, I knew that’s what I wanted, that’s what would be better for everyone… and even though I was at peace with it up until that moment, I was still scared. And then you called me.” 

There was a moment when Mycroft just lay in the bed with his eyes closed. Greg could tell he was reliving the moment. It might be had for him, he thought, since it seemed like he didn’t think about this very often. Greg just sat there in the silence, waiting. It was a bit to process as well for him. He wasn’t sure if there was more point to the story than Mycroft needing to get the secret off his chest properly, or if he was legitimately feeling suicidal again because of almost losing Sherlock. Either way, Greg was here for him. Mycroft gave him the strength to fight his own demons, and he was going to do all he could to help Mycroft get that strength for himself. 

“I put it all away, after realising that I’d agreed to go meet you in the hospital an hour after the phone call, to do the paperwork. I told myself it was alright, that it was still there in the cupboard waiting for me when it all went to shit again. When I wasn’t needed anymore. It took me two weeks before I even deleted the death certificate, and a month before I threw away the contents of that container. Being there to help you, help Sherlock, was the determination that got me through until things got better in other ways. I was still so ready for it all to end, but I couldn’t leave Sherlock. But I got promoted following the Georgia incident, and then I had the control that I had wanted all along… it wasn’t as stressful anymore, since I actually knew enough about what I was doing to make it work out for the best. 

“And I had a different attitude. I had told myself that I could always just kill myself anyway, anytime, when things went bad. And so I let myself go. I did things that made me happy in the moment, because I felt like there wasn’t going to be a ‘future’ to be happy in. I bought the manor, just because I’d always wanted to… and it didn’t matter if it was a mistake. I let myself do things that made me feel happy, not caring if it was a mistake later on. And you know what? I started feeling happier. Things improved. I wasn’t plagued with the suicidal thoughts as much anymore, and eventually, I was able to just hide that memory away deep down and move on with my life. But it did change me, let me do the things I wanted without so much fear of what was going to go wrong. I even did up the flat I had to make it more comfortable for me, more like the mysterious puppet-master job I had. And I even let myself have a guest room, permitting myself the hope that one day I would find someone that might like to use it.”

“Well, that’s a really good outcome, at least. I’m glad for those changes. And I’m glad for the guest bedroom, as well.” Greg said with a genuine smile. But he dropped his smile after a moment of thinking.  
“Myc, are you telling me this because you feel that way again? And you want me to help keep you alive?”

Mycroft didn’t say anything. He just frowned, thinking to himself. He honestly wasn’t sure. Yes, he felt awful, and yes, the guilt was even worse than that time from Georgia… but it was more because of Mary’s involvement. But he couldn’t deny that he did have the dark voice poisoning his mind that killing himself was the best option. Maybe not to do it now, since he still had the love of his fiancé, but regret, perhaps?

“I… I can’t deny that there is that thought lingering. Believe me that I don’t want to listen to it. This has all been a lot, and I can’t…”  
“I get it, Myc, you don’t have to explain yourself…”  
“Thank you, but I was going to say, that I can’t shake the guilt of not doing anything sooner. Not only had I ignored Sherlock in our bliss since getting engaged, but I allowed that agent to get close enough to Sherlock … believing that it was not a threat. A terribly grave mistake of mine, and I feel so guilty for it…”


	4. Mary's Secret Revealed

Greg was shocked.   
“So, the woman you saved from Georgia…”  
“Mary. Yes.”  
“How long have you known?” Greg asked, trying not to sound like he was suspecting anything.   
“When we met at the cemetery. I didn’t recognise her at first, but it didn’t take long to piece it together. We talked about it then, and she assured me that it was coincidence that she met John, and was devoted to having a new life with him. I believed her.”

Greg didn’t know what to say. Mycroft clearly had good intentions from the start, but he could see why the man was blaming himself for it. He personally wasn’t too thrilled to have been spending time with a woman that Mycroft knew was an assassin once. But he’d gotten a good vibe from Mary himself, and hadn’t suspected anything but honest devotion to John and even Sherlock. He tried not to listen to the voice in his head that told him Mary only kept trying to include Sherlock so that she could kill him off guard. But then why take so long? Why marry John, if killing Sherlock was the goal?

“We have to tell John.” Mycroft stated, but raised his eye as Greg shook his head.   
“No. Sherlock undoubtedly will, and I believe it’s something that they will need to work out between themselves.” 

Mycroft was hesitant, but trusted Greg. Deep down he knew that it really was best to let the three of them work it out between themselves. Greg stroked Mycroft’s hand. His fiancé looked exhausted on the bed, but like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.   
“Gregory… I understand you didn’t truly believe me when I told you about the suicide attempt. If you still require proof, I am told that a copy of my death certificate that I filled in still remains in the data archives…”  
“No, no… I believe you, Myc. I just … it’s all hard to get my head around, ok? Usually people don’t have such … connections in the past, before meeting properly. Our lives seem pretty coincidental.”  
“Perhaps, but that’s just how it is. And it isn’t entirely coincidental that Mary became John’s wife. John chose her, remember? Of all the people he’s met, he chose her. And you know John’s thirst for danger and adrenaline, the soldier craving the war… of course he chose someone with a past like hers.” 

Greg nodded. It made him wonder what he was into, having chosen Mycroft Secret-Keeper-Government-Spy Holmes.   
“But you see, Gregory… this really is my fault. If I had done a better job with the Georgia case, if I hadn’t organised Mary’s reintegration, and most importantly… if I hadn’t have just kept my mouth shut and trusted her not to cause any harm. She assured me she would protect John at all costs… I was an idiot to not ask about my brother’s safety as well.” 

Greg knew there wasn’t anything he could say that would make Mycroft stop blaming himself. For now, at least. He just gave him a look that said ‘you’re wrong’, and held him close. He at least could understand Mycroft’s feelings. He seemed to be doing better now that he’d talked, but he was still deathly white and shaking slightly. Greg eyed a sick bag in the tray of the equipment beside him, and felt it a good idea to slip it into his pocket - just in case. 

~

Greg had taken Mycroft home after they’d gone in to see Sherlock. Both the Holmeses were pale and unmoving. John sat vigil by Sherlock’s side, almost dropping asleep. Greg gave him a hug, telling him it’d be alright. He looked like he needed it.   
“Just give me a call if you need anything, alright?” Greg told him firmly.   
“Yeah. Thanks. I don’t know when he’ll be awake, or how lucid he’ll be when he is.”  
“I’m sure Mycroft will keep us up to date on his progress, so don’t worry about calling us in to see him.”

The pair stood and watched Mycroft stand stoically over Sherlock. He then pulled out the chart from the foot of the bed, glanced over it, and closed his eyes in pain. He put the folder away, and then gripped the railings of the bed.   
“I’m so sorry, Sherlock.” Mycroft whispered. 

There was silence for some time following that, and so Greg suggested he’d better take Mycroft home to bed. He advised John get some rest too, but knew that the doctor was going to remain in that chair until Sherlock woke. His heart lurched knowing what was about to happen to him… once Sherlock woke up, Mary’s secret was going to be out… and then everything was going to go to hell for him. Greg made sure to remind John to call him for anything, even to listen to venting, at any time. 

Greg had tucked Mycroft into bed and snuggled with him. It was rather late, or, really, early… and Greg knew that he’d only get a few hours sleep before he had to go to work. He honestly felt like he should stay and be there for Mycroft, but the man seemed to be coping alright since unloading the story of his actions in the past. He was just a bit dazed still, but no longer in unresponsive shock once learning Sherlock was going to recover. 

Mycroft was still asleep when Greg awoke, and so he merely kissed his cheek gently and got ready for work silently. He left a note on the bathroom mirror, somewhere he knew Mycroft would look, telling him that he should take the day off, call him when he was up, and not begin to orchestrate Mary’s ‘disappearance’ until things worked themselves out between her and John, and Sherlock. 

Mycroft had obliged on all counts, and Greg received a phone call just after ten in the morning. Anthea had already organised for him to have the day off, and Mycroft stated he’d be going to visit Sherlock a bit later on. Greg told him that he was going to take a half day, since he was already exhausted and his mind just wasn’t into it. Mycroft agreed, and said that he’d be home waiting for him… and that they both needed some relaxation. Greg’s mood improved for the rest of the day. 

They enjoyed some nice dinner (take out, Mycroft was in no mood to cook), some wine, and one of Mycroft’s favourite films. Things were working out alright… until he got a phone call from John. He’d been expecting this all day, but still hadn’t worked out what he was going to say.  


“It’s John.” Greg told Mycroft before answering. Mycroft made a face and inclined his head.   
“Hey, Greg. Sherlock’s awake. He’s not said anything lucid still, but if you want to go and see him tomorrow, you can.”   
“Oh… ok. Has, um… has Mary been in to see him?”  
“Yeah, funny you should ask. His first word: Mary. Is… is there something I should know?”   
“Dunno why you’d ask me, mate. But I’m glad he’s awake. I’ll come in to see him tomorrow, alright? So are you holding up ok?”  
“Yeah… gave me a hell of a scare there, but it’s alright now.”  
“Yeah… listen, I’ve gotta go, Mycroft and I are in the middle of a movie….”  
“Ah. Right. Well I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

John hun up the phone and Greg frowned.   
“That was odd.”  
“Hm?” Mycroft asked.   
“John… didn’t say a thing about Mary. Neither of them have told him yet.”  
“Give it time.” Mycroft said, closing his eyes. He didn’t seem to be very interested in getting directly involved. Greg could understand that; he no doubt still felt guilty for allowing Mary to get herself this entangled as it was. 

~

By the time Greg got out of work to see John at the hospital, it was night. It had been an annoyingly long day. Surprisingly, John still hadn’t said a thing about Mary. The papers had Sherlock all over it about faking a relationship with some woman, and John was more than glad to catch Greg up about Janine. Greg could tell John was relieved that it was all fraudulent, even if John wasn’t aware of why. Greg just sighed and rolled his eyes in his head. One day, maybe, John will be honest with himself. But that was obviously going to be after his… difficulties… upcoming. 

Greg decided he’d film Sherlock in the hospital, just in case he needed it. For some reason, since clearing Sherlock’s name using so much of the video footage, he felt the need to document things just for ‘in case’. Besides, he knew Mycroft would no doubt want to see it. The man had also been stuck in the office all day. He’d told Greg it was official matters, but he just _knew_ Mycroft was setting things in motion to get rid of Mary. 

But Sherlock was gone. John called Mary in a panic, and Greg alerted the Yard to try find him. Greg then phone Mycroft.   
“He’s got three known bolt-holes. Parliament Hill, Camden Lock, and Dagmar Court.”  
“I am aware. But we’re going to need to search deeper than that. Come to my office at once, we’ll work out something.”

Mycroft hung up the phone and Greg just looked at John uncertainly.   
“Sorry, I’ve got to go meet Mycroft. He’s on the case. We’ll find him, yeah?”  
“Yeah. Stay in touch. I’ll go and ask Molly if she knows anywhere else he’d hide. Why the fuck is he doing this?!” John shouted as the men parted. Greg didn’t want to tell him why Sherlock wanted to hide. 

He’d not been in Mycroft’s office before. He’d been in front of the building often enough, but never had the need to go actually into the office. It was dark and creepy, and really did suit the work flat in decor. He was glad that they didn’t really spend a whole lot of time there anymore, and secretly glad he didn’t have to spend much time in Mycroft’s office either. 

Greg stood in the middle of the room, not wanting to look about too much. The mirrors on either side made him wary. But it was Mycroft that kept him standing back and stiff. The man was clearly very stressed, but had defaulted to his icy exterior in order to get the job done. He was rather rude to Greg, but Greg just breathed through it and let it pass. He understood. It was a high stress situation. Mycroft managed to locate two more bolt-holes, and quickly sent him off to search them. 

“I’ll see you soon, ok, love? We’ll find him, ok?” Greg said at the doorway.   
“I know. I just worry in what state.” Mycroft responded, frowning in concern. 

Greg nodded, and left. He already felt like taking another holiday. 

He checked all five places, but there was no Sherlock in sight. He called Mycroft, who let out a strangled noise before getting control over himself and informing Greg that he’d work more on it and keep him apprised. He then called John, who told him to join in at Baker Street. 

Mrs Hudson was there, still insisting that Sherlock could be behind the face of Big Ben. She greeted Greg warmly, and then they stood about in the kitchen trying to come up with some other place to find him. John was also concerned about _why_ he’d run, and Greg was trying hard not to let anything slip. He even offered the though that maybe Sherlock was out trying to hunt the shooter down, but John wasn’t seeming to buy it. It was rather ridiculous, since Sherlock knew it’d be better to hunt a killer down when he _wasn’t_ at risk of dying on the spot just from moving. So it had to be important to do _now_. 

Greg decided to leave and make himself useful trying to find more places Sherlock would hide, before John managed to get him to spill the secret.   
_He has to find out for himself. He has to find out for himself._

Not long after leaving the flat, Greg got a call from John.   
“Hey, Sherlock just called me. He’s in Leinster Gardens, and wants me to meet him there. Said that there’s something I need to hear from Mary.”  
“Oh, um, that’s great, I’ll call Mycroft!” Greg exclaimed and hung up immediately. He knew John hadn’t really finished talking, but he didn’t want to be invited to go with him. He drew in a deep breath, and called Mycroft. 

“Myc, we’ve found him. He called John. Now, before I tell you were he is, I need you to promise me that you’ll just let them deal with this situation between them, alright?”  
“Gregory!”  
“No, Mycroft. This is something between them. It’s best we’re not involved.”  
“No.”  
“Mycroft.”  
“No! Sherlock needs me, and he almost died because of me.”  
“Dearest, he’s going to be ok, and it wasn’t because you let Mary stay around. But this is seriously something they need to work out, trust me.”

He heard Mycroft sigh deeply.   
“Myc? I’ll come and meet you at your office, ok?”  
“Very well, Gregory. I will allow them to decide what they want to do. I trust you. With Sherlock’s life.”

Greg beamed at hearing those words. He knew that Mycroft trusted him with his own life undoubtedly, but to trust him with Sherlock’s life proved just how much Mycroft trusted him. He told him where Sherlock was, and that he’d see him soon. It was going to be a difficult time ahead, and Greg only hoped that he’d be able to keep his little family together. 


	5. Meeting Greg's Family

Greg’s mother had a 70th birthday party today. He’d agreed to attend when invited two weeks ago, but neglected to mention that he’d be bringing Mycroft. He hadn’t told her that he was engaged… he’d told his sister, Sophie, but knew that it was unlikely she would have said anything. With all of the chaos following Mary’s secret being revealed, he’d just forgotten to say anything. 

John and Mary weren’t talking still, and John had confided in Greg what had happened. Greg didn’t say anything about Mycroft knowing about Mary beforehand, deciding that it was probably for the best to keep that information a secret from John. Mycroft had done as he promised and left Mary alone. Greg _may_ have helped keep him occupied with wedding plans of all sorts to try keep his mind off of Sherlock. 

Speaking of the wedding… they’d decided to get married rather soon. Greg had said he’d like a spring wedding, symbolising the melting of the ice, but Mycroft was unusually insistent to get married before Christmas. He’d said that he wanted to be Greg’s husband before the ice even came; but Greg secretly believed that Mycroft was afraid of something happening that would tear them apart before they got the chance. And, in honesty, Greg could understand that. Sherlock almost dying only two weeks after them getting engaged, and then the rift torn between Mary and John, were indeed indicators that waiting only invites more opportunity for pain. 

And so now Greg was about to arrive at a big celebration and deliver a wedding invitation to his mother and sister. Mycroft wasn’t going to arrive for another hour, which while disappointing at first, did give Greg an opportunity to let the news out gently. 

“Greg! So good to see you!” The high pitched voice of Greg’s mother called out as he walked into the house.   
“Hello, Mum, it’s good to see you too.” Greg said, much less enthusiastically. His mother was too excited to notice. She embraced him in a hug and kissed him on the cheek.   
“Come, we’re all out the back.” She said, leading him into the backyard. 

There were tables dressed in white cloth on the grass in the backyard, and a small gazebo where the food was laid out for people to get as they pleased. People were standing about talking, or sitting at the tables, and there were children running around them. Greg eyed his niece and nephew chasing each other, and smiled to himself. 

“Greg! Wonderful to see you again.”  
Greg turned and saw the face of his mother’s best friend, Margret, beaming at him.   
“Hey, Aunty Marge.” Greg said with a smile. He’d known her most of his life. She hugged him and gave him a kiss like his mother had done, and then tugged him to move over to the table where they were seated. 

“Happy birthday, Mum.” Greg said, handing over his gift. She tore the paper off excitedly, and gazed down at the little clock.   
“Awh, Greggy, it’s lovely, thank you.” She said, pulling it out of the box and resting it on the table. It was brass and mahogany, and was encased in glass so that one could see the cogs and pieces moving.   
“So! I hear you’re getting engaged! Why didn’t you bring her with you?” Greg’s mother burst out, and Greg froze.   
“Uhhh…” He said, not sure what to say about it, “Sophie told you, then?”   
“Yeah.”  
“Oh, um I’d better go say hi to Soph now that I think of it.” Greg stated hurriedly, and left the table. 

He quickly found his sister, and grabbed her by the elbow.   
“Oh, hi Greg.” Sophie said as she turned to him.   
“You told her I was engaged?”  
“Yes.”  
“But you neglected to mention that it was to a man?”  
“Yep.”  
“Why?”  
“More fun this way.” Sophie said with a devilish gleam in her eye and a manic smile. Greg sighed and rolled his eyes. His sister always loved chaos. 

He returned to the table where his mother and her friend were siting expectantly.   
“So, Greg, what’s her name?”  
“When’s the wedding?” Margret interjected before Greg could speak. He elected to answer the easier question.   
“December, actually. December 11th.”  
“Oh! So soon!” His mother cooed in delight.   
“Yeah… and I have the invitations with me… but before I give them to you, there’s something I have to say. My fiancé is a man, his name is Mycroft. I love him with all my being, and I haven’t been this happy before.” Greg spilled all at once. 

The two women were silent for a second, but then Margret burst out laughing.   
“Hahah I knew it! I knew he’d marry a bloke. Betty, you owe me ten quid.” Margret said, playfully shoving his mother’s arm.   
“Wait… what?” Greg asked incredulously.   
“No, no… he married a woman first, so technically I still win.” His mother protested.   
“Hang on, you two were betting on my love life?!” Greg snapped. He was still ignored.   
“Hey, I never said he had to marry a bloke _first_ , just that he would, so fork it over.” Margret said with glee, opening her palm to her friend. Greg rolled his eyes. 

“I’m so happy for you, dear. We both are. We didn’t mean to cause offence, but you know… you’re alone, you’re bored, you need to find something to occupy your time with.” Betty spoke with a smile to her son.   
“So… I’m to assume this isn’t the only bet you have over me or others?” Greg said sternly with a frown.   
“Oh, heavens no,” Margret said with a sly smile, “We have all sorts of bets going.”   
“Like?”  
“Can’t tell you that, sweetie.” His mother finished. At least they seemed happy for him, and didn’t mind that his fiancé was a man. Margret seemed a little too happy, to be honest. He sighed. It didn’t matter, really, if they wanted to bet on his life. As long as they were supportive. He guessed that he himself had had an unconscious bet with himself that they were going to get together, anyway, so couldn’t really blame them. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the invitations. 

“Here, Mum, I’ve invited you and a ‘plus one’ so you can bring Aunty Marge.”  
“Thank you dear. We’ll be there with bells on.” His mother said as she took the envelope.   
“I’ll give Soph’s to her later, she seems a bit busy.” Greg said, looking over her shoulder at his sister consoling her daughter at a scuffed knee. 

“So, tell us about Mycroft!”   
“Um… he’s tall, a genius, a bit socially awkward, dresses in suits a lot, and I think he’s er… unbelievably sexy.” Greg said, coughing with a grin. His mother smiled at him. She could tell that her son was entirely besotted by this man, and was glad that he’d finally found a reason to be happy. She’d never liked that wife of his, and hated how miserable he was around her. Even before they were married, Greg didn’t have that twinkle in his eye that she’d feared was gone for good. 

“He’s actually coming in about half an hour, he couldn’t get out of work until now.”   
“What does he do for work?” His mum asked him.   
“He works for the government. Minor government official.” Greg repeated on reflex.   
“Sounds stuffy.” Aunt Marge interjected.   
“He puts on a detached exterior, but he’s really a sweet man.” Greg told her with a little frown. 

Greg helped himself to some lunch, seating himself back in the same seat despite his mother and her friend moving off to interact with other guests. He wanted to say hi to Jake and Emily, his nephew and niece, but they were still playing with some of the other children and hadn’t noticed he was even there. He just waited until Mycroft would announce that he arrived. 

After what seemed like forever, he got a text saying Mycroft was at the front door. He leapt up and trotted to the entrance, opening the door for Mycroft. He immediately gave him a big hug.   
“Hello to you too, Gregory.”  
“Thank you for coming.” Greg stated immediately. He knew how difficult it was going to be for him, but was still so happy that he was going to meet his family. Mycroft nodded curtly in his direction, and then waited to be shown into the house. 

Mycroft froze when he stood at the back door. There was more people there than he expected. And there were more children than he expected. He took a deep breath and followed his fiancé out into the crowd.   
“Mum! Mum, this is Mycroft.” Greg called out, grabbing his mother’s attention. The short elderly lady smiled and approached them.   
“Mycroft Holmes.” Mycroft stated formally, sticking his arm out for a handshake. The woman ignored him and hugged him tightly. His eyes grew wide.   
_Help… Gregory, please… help…_

“Betty Lestrade. But you can call me Mum.”   
Greg giggled at Mycroft’s expression. His mother released him, and his Aunt then came and did the same. Greg laughed, as Mycroft’s expression grew even funnier.   
“I’m Margret, but you can call me Aunty Marge.”   
“Errmm… thank you.” Mycroft said awkwardly. Greg knew there was no way he was going to do that. 

Mycroft tried to smile at Gregory’s mother, and give answers to the onslaught of questions she fired his way. He could feel himself losing control of the panic that was rising in his chest. It was a lot of conversation to deal with all at once. He at least wasn’t introduced to everyone else at the party yet… but he groaned to himself thinking about it. 

Greg noticed that Mycroft was beginning to shake softly and he was sweating. He grabbed his fiancé’s hand.   
“Mum, we’re going to get a drink now.” Greg informed her, and pulled Mycroft away and back towards the kitchen inside.   
“There’s champagne over under the gazebo, dear.” Betty said.   
“Nah, we’d like some water. Back in a mo’.”

Once Greg got Mycroft into the kitchen, he cupped his face gently.   
“Hey, you doing ok?”

Mycroft nodded, keeping his mouth shut.   
“Yes, it’s just all…a lot.”  
“I know, I appreciate it so much that you are doing this for me.”  
“There is so many people… I don’t think I can do this, Gregory…”  
“Hey, you listen to me. Ignore them. Hell, I don’t even know half the people here. Who cares what they think of you. All you have to do is meet my mum, and my sister… and so you’re halfway through already.”

Mycroft seemed to calm down at that, and nodded back at Greg, standing taller. Greg got him a glass of water which he took thankfully, and drank a large mouthful. Greg then got a paper towel, dampened it under the tap, and then padded it on Mycroft’s forehead.   
“It’s gonna be ok, love. Try to relax a little. It doesn’t matter to me what they think of you.” Greg reassured, wiping the sweat off his brow. 

After a moment, Greg tossed the paper into the bin, and then walked up and hugged Mycroft. The man returned the hug, holding him close. Mycroft then bent downwards and kissed Gregory gently.   
“I love that you are so understanding.” Mycroft whispered.   
“Of course.” Greg said, smiling, still in Mycroft’s embrace. 

“Oi, lovebirds… we’re cutting the cake!”   
Both snapped their attention to the woman standing in the doorway. She gave them a smile and walked back into the backyard.   
“And that was my sister.” Greg said, chuckling.   
“Charming.” Mycroft stated, releasing Gregory from his hold.   
“Come on. We’ll go have some cake, and yes, it’s expected of you to eat it. We’ll say hi to my sister and her family, and then we can go. Sound alright?”  
“Yeah.” Mycroft answered, and walked back out with Gregory. 


	6. Greg's Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The extended version of Greg's past is here: [ Greg's Past ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12526352/chapters/28524452)

Mycroft sat at the table and watched his fiancé interact with his sister’s children. He couldn’t help but feel sad seeing how lovingly Gregory played with his niece and nephew, and yet hadn’t had children of is own. He tried to think of a reason… that perhaps his wife hadn’t wanted any. But there was a deep sorrow in Gregory’s eyes when he watched the children play that Mycroft knew was from past trauma or pain. He knew that look all too well from himself. Something had happened that had resulted in him remaining childless, and it hurt him. Perhaps he’d lost a child? Mycroft didn’t want to bring up past pain, but he really did need to know Gregory’s story about it. They were getting married, after all. 

Mycroft had been distracted by his thoughts while answering questions thrown his way by Gregory’s mother and less-than-platonic friend. Luckily he had the skill to think to himself and carry out conversation at the same time. He tried hard not to care too much about gaining their approval, as Gregory had told him that he didn’t need it. Still, he would like it. 

The party started to die down, and Greg returned to the table where Mycroft had sat.   
“Ready to go, love?” He asked, a smile breaking out across his face. As Mycroft looked up at him, he saw that shadow of sadness disappear. He smiled in return.   
“Yes, darling.” Mycroft spoke, aware that he’d not used that pet name for Gregory before. He was pleased with the loving gleam in his partner’s eye at the term. 

Greg leaned in and kissed him, and helped Mycroft stand. He didn’t take his arm off his waist as he said his goodbyes, and led Mycroft out through the house. Greg was pleased that Mycroft didn’t object. They got into the back of Mycroft’s car, and Greg kissed him again. But he noticed that there was something eating at his fiancé’s mind.  
“Love, what is it?” Greg asked, “Did you not like my family?”  
“What? No, no… they were charming, I liked them.”  
“Then what’s wrong?”

Mycroft gave Greg a look that quickly crushed all the elation he’d been feeling. Greg reached up and cupped Mycroft’s cheek supportively.   
“Myc, tell me.”  
“Gregory,” Mycroft began, very hesitant, “I… I need to ask something, something that I fear will hurt you.”  
Greg paused and unconsciously moved backwards from Mycroft. He didn’t want to pay any attention to the thousand thoughts dashing through his mind.   
“Alright.” Greg responded slowly. 

Mycroft took Gregory’s hands in his and looked solemnly into his eyes. He could tell he was scared regarding what he was about to ask.   
“Gregory, why don’t you have children? Watching you today… I could see how much you love them, but there was always a sadness in your eyes when you thought they couldn’t see you.”

Greg crumpled his face and sighed. It wasn’t the worst thing to ask, not at all… but it was still difficult. He wasn’t sure where to begin.   
_From the beginning._

“Myc, I… this… this is going to be a long story. It’s not just a simple answer. It’s not something I talk about generally… I guess you could call it _my_ secret, like the one you told me that day in the hospital. But I … I don’t want to talk about it here. Can we wait until we’re home, this evening perhaps?”  
“Of course, dear.” Mycroft said softly, and continued to hold onto his love’s hand whilst he looked out the window. 

After a light dinner, Greg took Mycroft’s hand and walked with him into the lounge. He poured himself a scotch, and one for Mycroft, and sat down on the sofa with him.   
“So. This… while this is the story of why I don’t have kids, it really is more the story of my life. And… to be honest… I’m ashamed of it. And I don’t want you to see who I used to be for fear that I’m still that man - or rather, boy, really. I want to start this off by saying that I am entirely devoted to you, Mycroft Holmes, and no matter what happens, I will never, ever abandon you.”   
Mycroft couldn’t help but let his eyes water slightly. He kissed Gregory deeply. Greg enjoyed it, but then sighed when the kiss was over. 

“It all started when I was eight years old. Sophie is three years younger than me, making her five at the time. My father… he was not a nice man. I don’t have memory of a time when he wouldn’t get drunk from drinking at four in the afternoon, and all of my earliest memories of him involve alcohol or abuse. Anyway, so one day I was outside playing, and my father let my sister out to join me. Only I hadn’t known she was there. It was only later I found out that he’d expected me to watch her, but she’d run out onto the busy road we lived on. She crossed the street and was found halfway down the next. As you could imagine my parents were livid. Before they found her, my father told me that it was my fault if she died. And that was how I suddenly had a child to raise. 

“Sophie only got more and more rebellious as she grew, and I was always to blame for it. My father hated me, and was forever shouting insults and derogatory comments at me. Sometimes it was because he’d decided something I did wasn’t right or up to standards, sometimes it was punishing me because of Sophie’s actions, and sometimes it was out of the blue and made no sense at all because he was drunk and just wanted to shout. Hell, I was always being yelled at and punished for Sophie’s actions. I always had to be the ‘oldest’, and ‘act my age’, even if I was doing things that was perfectly acceptable for my age.

“My father didn’t care about raising children. I was the one that raised Sophie, since my mother was always working or doing housework. Dad never worked a job that I can remember, but he would tell mum to work harder. So Mum never had time to take much interest in our lives. So I don’t think she ever saw the extent of his psychological and emotional abuse. By the age of fifteen, we were struggling to get by. Mum begged for him to help, but it was just shouting matches. And then he left. He abandoned his family once it got hard for him, because he was deluded and refused to stay where we wouldn’t follow his rules.”  
“That sounds terrible, dear.” Mycroft uttered quietly, stroking Gregory’s arm as he took a gulp of scotch. 

“You’d probably guess it, I was a pretty rebellious teenager myself. The typical punk… dyed hair, torn clothes, leather cuffs and jacket, chains… but I was always there to support my sister. She got into the party scene, and hung out with some really terrible people. She’d drink and take drugs, go out to clubs illegally… all at fifteen. It had started affecting her so much that when she was sixteen, Mum actually noticed. I’d just moved out with two mates by this stage, and was enjoying life outside of school.”

Greg chuckled to himself looking at his scotch.   
“I spent my days working in a supermarket, and my nights out shagging random blokes. Mostly blokes. Occasionally there’d be a girl, but I’ve always preferred men over women. There was one guy I’d see fairly often, Alex, but he and I didn’t want a relationship. It was all just rough sex between us. Well, I would have liked a bit more, but he wasn’t open to that. 

“Anyway, getting off topic. Sophie. I went by one day and Mum asked me to talk to her, and I ended up telling her that I was done supporting her. I’d spent so much of my life always being there for her, always picking her up out of the mud… and she refused to change because she knew that I’d always be there. And I was sick of it. I told her that she had to deal with her choices herself. That if she wouldn’t listen to me and stop her behaviour with the drugs and alcohol and parties, I wasn’t going to be there to keep taking her home. Those friends of hers were douches, and never cared for her.”  
“Is this what you were talking about before Sweden?” Mycroft asked pensively.   
“Yeah.” Greg nodded. 

“Things were great for a while. I got myself a motorbike, and was loving the freedom. That was until she called me one day. I wasn’t having the best day, I’d been having nightmares worrying about her. So I was seeing Alex, and having some particularly rough and kinky sex with him. During it, Sophie calls me. I had to answer… she wanted to meet. I agreed, and seriously pissed off Alex by doing so. By the time I got to the house, I was in a mood because of Sophie interrupting my life _again_. 

“And that’s when she tells me that she was pregnant. I… I instantly told her to get an abortion. She was fucking sixteen, for god’s sake. I told her that she was ruining her life, and needed to change. But she didn’t listen. She was insistent on keeping it. I shouted that she wasn’t responsible for her own life, let alone another… but she said she’d change and do good by the baby. I lost it and said I wasn’t going to be around for it, that if she was going to ignore me and ruin her life, I wasn’t going to be there for her. And she … shouted back. She called me my father. She told me I was being exactly like him… that I was being abusive to her, that I was abandoning her when she needed me most, that I was insulting her because she wasn’t going to follow my rules. I…”

Mycroft could see how difficult talking about it was for Gregory. He embraced him gently as the tears fell out of his partner’s eyes. He didn’t even care if it was getting on his shirt. He just gently stroked Gregory’s back. Greg sniffled and took a deep breath. 

“Sorry.”  
“Don’t be sorry, darling. I am here for you.” Mycroft said, kissing Gregory’s head.   
“Thanks.” Greg responded, smiling. 

“So I left. But I knew she was right. I tried to deny it, but she told me outright that I was ashamed of her and how she’d turned out, and that I’d practically raised her… so I already failed at raising kids. And so I had no choice but to see… that’s exactly what I was… I was my father. I’d grown up hating him, wishing he’d never been around, only to find out I was exactly the same. It tore me apart. But the thing she said last has stuck with me… that while I was telling her she shouldn’t be a mother, it was me that shouldn’t be a father. Not when I’d just inflict my father’s evil upon them and ruin their lives like I did hers.”  
Mycroft gasped quietly, but said nothing to allow Greg to continue. 

“Mum didn’t contact me after then, either. I mean, I knew she’d not want to have anything to do with me after that… she’d spent so much of her life with my father in it, she didn’t want to have me around when I was exactly the same. But I was so alone, Myc. I stopped going out and seeing people, I didn’t respond to Alex’s texts both times, and I didn’t even hang out with my housemates. I just was empty, going to work, coming home, and crying to myself alone in my room. It was then that I realised how deeply afraid of being alone I was. But I couldn’t let myself go out and inflict myself upon anyone else. 

“Three months after Sophie had told me she was pregnant, she calls me. She was scared that people were following her. I was annoyed that she was calling for me to help her again. She didn’t care how I was faring… but, no one did. I told her to just go home, since the drugs always made her feel paranoid. I was disappointed that she was still taking drugs while pregnant. I told her to call mum, but apparently she and Aunt Marge had gone away for work. She kept telling me that she was being stalked, but I told her to just go home, and hung up. I fell asleep, and was woken a few hours later by the phone.”  
“Sophie?”  
“…No.” Greg whispered. Mycroft tilted his head. 

“It was from the hospital. Sophie was there… she’d been attacked. Pretty badly, too. I got there as soon as I could. She’d been bloodied up pretty bad, and stabbed in the gut a couple of times. The baby didn’t make it. She… she was distraught, but I … I … I was _glad_. I was fucking _glad_ that the baby had died, since I still believed it was going to ruin her life. I realised how much of a monster I was then. Sophie wanted nothing to do with me. Called me a cruel heartless bastard like my dad, and she was right. I asked her if she knew who did it to her, and she said it was her old friends. She’d actually left them, actually gone clean - no more drinking, drugs, parties with those scum…and they’d hunted her down and attacked her for it.”

“My God…” Mycroft breathed. He held onto Gregory tighter.   
“I was beside myself with anger. I wanted to hunt them down and make them pay. But I knew I couldn’t just do what they did to my sister to them, I wanted them to get justice. I’d been lost for a while, not knowing what to do with myself or where I was going in my life. But then in that moment I found a deep passion for taking those people to jail. I hadn’t been passionate about anything before. It was that moment that I decided I was going to be a police officer.”  
“A good reason.” Mycroft commented. 

“Yeah. So I was glad to be bringing low-lifes in for their crimes; it was giving me a purpose. I made amends with my mum a few years later, and was glad that I didn’t feel so empty anymore. But I always knew I could never risk having children. I preferred to date men, but being gay on the force was met with some rather awful treatment. So I dated men in secret and waited to find a woman that I wouldn’t mind marrying. But I was afraid to, because I didn’t want to subject a family to what I had gone through. I couldn’t bring myself to actually have kids, no matter how much I wanted it. I was just too afraid I’d devolve back into that person. 

“My wife wasn’t a perfect match for me, I knew it from the start. But she didn’t want kids, and that was hard to find in a woman. Still, I didn’t think that she’d turn out the way she did, with all the lying and cheating. Deep down I wasn’t really happy from the start. But I didn’t want to be alone anymore.”

Greg was all but whispering by the time he’d finished. Mycroft just held him close, and uttered soothing words to him. Greg allowed himself to break down and sob into Mycroft. He was afraid of what Mycroft would think of him, but he felt so much lighter having gotten it off his chest. And so much closer to his fiancé now that he knew his dark past. 

“Gregory, listen to me. You are the kindest, most caring and supportive man that I have known. You are not a monster, and you never were. You made the best of an awful situation. I don’t know your father, but I know you… and you would make an excellent parent. Don’t let some words, some actions, from so long ago keep you prisoner now. I mean Sophie has turned out just fine now, as we’ve seen.” Mycroft said quietly. 

“You… you are wonderful, you know that Myc?”  
“I know it’s not going to be easy to just rewrite your opinion of yourself, but I will be here to help.”  
“Thanks. It’s nice to know you think I’d be a good dad. But I’ve kinda missed my chance with all that.”  
“How so?”  
“Well… I’m a bit old now, and I’m marrying you…wait, are you saying you’d want to raise kids with me?”  
“I… I originally was opposed to having children. My job and personality are not conducive to rearing young. And I never … liked them. But being with you makes me think fondly upon the idea of having a family with you. I’m not saying yes, right now…just maybe, one day, in the future…” Mycroft spoke, originally off-guard.   
“Yes. Maybe, in the future.” Greg repeated, and kissed him softly. 


	7. Preparations

Sherlock was recovering well. He was being released from the hospital with orders of strict bedrest, which John was all too happy to enforce. John had moved back into 221B for the duration of Sherlock’s recovery. Greg knew that John was using it as an excuse to avoid talking with Mary. 

Greg and John had caught up a couple of times while Sherlock was still in the hospital. Greg hadn’t pushed their meetings, knowing the doctor was rather stressed out as it was. But he wanted to ask John to be his best man, and had to ask soon as to give him time to organise a speech. And to tell him to plan a bachelor party _not_ like John’s own. Which was why Greg had summoned John out to the pub. 

“Look, I’ll come out and say it. I want you to be my best man, John.” Greg said, sliding a pint over to John.   
“What… really?”  
“Of course, why not?”  
“I thought maybe Sherlock…”  
Greg chuckled.   
“Yeah, well, he’s a good mate too. And has been one longer. But I want you. Besides, Mycroft’s claimed Sherlock.”  
“Sherlock is going to be Mycroft’s best man? Christ.”

Greg laughed and gave John a sly grin.   
“Actually, I think he’s planning on asking him to be his bridesmaid.”  
John dropped his jaw in shock briefly, and cleared his throat.  
“Oh, I… I hadn’t realised Mycroft was… wanted… I mean, he wears suits all the time…”  
“Nah, mate, he’s not going to be wearing a dress.” Greg laughed. “I think he just wants to rile Sherlock up. Besides, of the two of us, he’s more feminine. He actually wants to take on the bride role for the most part.”   
“So, walking down the aisle but no dress?”  
“You got it.”   
“Flowers?”  
“I … I doubt it. I don’t actually know.” Greg said, thinking to himself. It really was a strange toeing of the line Mycroft was doing regarding traditional roles at a wedding. 

“But hey, you haven’t actually said yes yet.” Greg said pointedly.  
“Oh, of course, Greg. Certainly! I’d… I’m honoured.” John spoke awkwardly, but smiling.   
“One request though.”   
“Hm?”  
“No getting drunk at the bachelor party.” Greg said raising his eyebrow. John groaned.  
“Oh, Christ no.” John mumbled, remembering the disaster that had been his own. 

“There’s one more thing I need to say. Sherlock… he’s… he’s pretty insistent that Mary comes to the wedding.”  
“What? Why? I don’t get him. She shot him and lied to me. She bloody killed him and he’s acting like she saved him out of kindness!”  
“She didn’t kill him, John…”  
“Um, actually, yeah…she did. Didn’t Mycroft tell you? They declared Sherlock dead. Stopped resuscitating him, declared time of death. And then he miraculously came back. There’s only been a handful of instances of that happening before. So yeah, technically… Mary killed him.” 

Greg had frozen. No, he didn’t know that, and he was pretty sure Mycroft didn’t either. He wasn’t sure if he should tell him or not.   
“I…er…no, I didn’t know that. Fuck. That’s…yeah. So Sherlock knows this?”  
“Yeah.”  
“Well… I guess you have to trust him then, it’s his life I suppose. Look, all he said to me was that Mary was family. He blabbed on something about me marrying Myc making him family to me and you being his family to him and Mary being your wife and so family to you… there were a lot of words, and I hadn’t had my coffee yet. Point is, I said yes to shut him up.”

John grumpily took a large swig of his beer. He muttered ‘fine’ to Greg, and so Greg decided to leave the issue be. 

~

Greg walked into the bedroom, and found Mycroft standing in front of the mirror. He was wearing one of his suits, and there was another lain over the bed.   
“Big occasion coming up?” Greg asked, announcing his presence.   
“Indeed. Our wedding, remember.” Mycroft commented, looking at Greg via the mirror.   
“I thought you’d want to get suits made.”  
“I do, I just… wanted to get an idea of what I’d be in for.” Mycroft commented cautiously. Greg wasn’t exactly sure what he was meaning.

Mycroft turned to face Gregory’s confused expression. He didn’t know what to say. He knew that Gregory had been kind about his eating disorder, but he still didn’t like to bring it up. The conflicting thought processes made him feel ashamed to even talk of it. He somehow found himself wishing that his fiancé would look about the room and deduce what was happening. 

“You made an appointment to get our measurements taken, didn’t you?” Greg stated after a few moments.   
“Yes.” Mycroft said, impressed.  
“Myc…” Greg began, and walked up behind Mycroft. He lovingly slid his hands around the main’s waist and held him close. Greg then kissed his cheek. Mycroft remained tense, awaiting what criticism was about to be said to him. Even kind words from Gregory were often felt as a dismissal, and Mycroft hated himself for it. 

“Do you want to talk about what you’re thinking or feeling?” Greg asked. Mycroft turned his head slightly, but remained looking at Gregory’s compassionate brown eyes through the mirror.  
“I don’t know what to say. The thoughts in my head are conflicting and I feel ashamed that I can’t get things straight.”  
“Tell me about them.”  
“I… I can’t stop hating the way I look. But I know you’ve told me you like it… me…and so I don’t want to make you feel bad for my still hating my weight. I want to stop seeing the fat when I look at myself, but I can’t. Some days I will look and be glad with the progress, but others I will just see how much further I can go. I want to look nice for our wedding. But I always dread getting my measurements taken. I want to stop eating, but I tell myself that it’s not good for me. I am ashamed that I still think about vomiting when I have caved and eaten something I know I strictly shouldn’t have. I hate that I love the taste of food, unhealthy food… and I hate that I am drawn to it when I am stressed or feeling down. And I don’t like that I _want_ to keep being avoidant of food in order to remain thin.” Mycroft rambled out all at once. He felt like if he said it all quickly, it would just be over soon. But instead he found himself waiting in panic while Gregory processed the information. 

“Mycroft, none of what you’ve told me is to feel ashamed about. That’s just something that happens when you have an eating disorder. I … guess. I don’t actually know a whole lot about them, but it all sounded pretty reasonable to me. All I can say for certain is that I love you, and all that entails. Your body, your mind, your issues… all of it. You know I don’t care about your weight beyond making you happy. Because it’s the being happy part I care about. I know it’s not going to just go away, but let me tell you … you look damn sexy in anything you wear, or don’t wear.” Greg said, ending his comment with a flirtatious smirk. 

Mycroft held his partner’s hands. Greg then tugged him so that they were facing each other, and kissed him.   
“So, tell me how it went with Sherlock.”  
“Oh, he was utterly offended, as expected.” Mycroft said, glee spreading across his face.   
“Did he demand he wasn’t going to wear a dress?”  
“Indeed. I … may have suggested he do so, and reminded him of the ‘tradition’ he was informed of last wedding.”

Greg had to stop and think about that one, and then burst out laughing.   
“And?”  
“And he was rather abrasive in his response, but I could see the hope flash across his face.”  
“Yeah. Still, it’s a bit sad, really.”  
“Yes, but remember, I was the ‘bit sad’ one whilst you were married.” 

Mycroft smiled warmly and kissed Gregory.   
“I am glad that you are intelligent enough for conversations such as these, and for deducing what was bothering me. I am used to having to explain everything, like that the tradition was the copulation of the bridesmaid and best man, and that John is your best man…”  
“Shh… it’s ok, Myc. Just because your brother calls me an idiot, doesn’t mean I am.”

Greg hugged Mycroft close and rested his head on the man’s chest.   
“Only three weeks left. Three weeks and we’re married.”   
“Indeed. I had not expected it to be so easy to plan.”  
“You do realise Anthea has been the one to organise anything you’ve decided on?”

Mycroft chuckled.  
_Yes, that would be why it’s been so easy thus far._


	8. My Husband

Mycroft stood tall before the mirror. He was nervous, but excited at the same time. His mother came up behind him, wearing a stylish purple and blue dress.   
“You look wonderful, my dear. Are you ready?” 

Mycroft turned and smiled, but shuffled on the spot. He was, he was ready. But his heart was still pounding in his chest. He was wearing a slate-blue suit with, of course, a waist coat, which was a light cool grey. His shirt was white and he wore a grey silk tie to match his waistcoat. He really didn’t look all that different to normal, part of the downfalls of wearing suits all the time, but he still felt that the attire was different enough to be special. Gregory had insisted that he try look a bit different for the wedding, but still look like him. Mycroft wasn’t sure if he’d succeeded, but he did at least like the suit. 

Greg let his eyes drift over the small company before him. Greg had wanted a large wedding, but nothing too fancy. Mycroft had wanted an extremely upper class and intimately small affair. They compromised to have an elegant wedding with more than just direct family. The place was beautiful; flowers garnished the windows, the building itself was ornate and grandiose, and the smattering of chairs before him were laden with their closest friends and family. The room was just the right size for the fifteen guests without appearing claustrophobic or hollow. He could see Mary sitting with Mrs Hudson, behind Anthea… his mother, Margret, Sophie and her husband sitting on the other side of the aisle. Donovan and Anderson were there as well, surprisingly, seated together at the back.He wasn’t sure whom a few of the others were, dignitaries of Mycroft’s choosing. 

John stood by his side, waiting. Greg was in a black suit, white shirt, and a tie that matched the colour of Mycroft’s jacket. It was the first suit he’d ever had tailored, and it felt wonderful.   
“Excited?” John asked into Greg’s ear.  
“Yeah. And nervous.”  
“Why nervous?”  
“Don’t know. It’s a big thing, getting married.”  
“You love him, and he loves you. That’s all that matters. Nothing terrible is going to happen.”  
“You… you remember your wedding, right?” Greg asked somewhat playfully, turning to look his best man in the eye. John laughed. 

Violet looped her arm around her son’s and began to walk out of the room with him in tow.   
“I’m so proud of you, Mycroft.”   
“Thank you, Mummy.”   
Violet kissed his cheek. Sherlock appeared at the doorway, smiling. He wanted to be annoyed at Mycroft, but he couldn’t help but be happy for him.   
“You’re nervous.” Sherlock stated.   
“Obviously.”  
“Why? Marrying Lestrade is what you want.”  
“Sherlock, leave your brother alone.” Violet reprimanded, much to Mycroft’s delight, and released her son from her grip. Mycroft’s father stepped out to join them, and smiled at his son. He stuck out his elbow for Mycroft to take. 

Music started playing, the string quartet that Mycroft insisted upon, and there was shuffling from all the people in the room. Greg stood up straight, and patted down his front. It was this moment, when Greg saw the entire room turn to look expectantly at the door, Greg wondered why Mycroft decided he wanted to walk up to the altar. Sherlock appeared in the doorway, attempting to look unimpressed but failing miserably, followed by Violet Holmes, and then behind them walked in Mycroft, arms linked with his father. 

Mycroft’s heart jumped when he saw all the people staring at him, but the fear melted away when he saw Gregory’s face beaming at him from the altar. That gorgeous, genuine smile that warmed Mycroft’s heart beckoned him closer.   
_It’s ok. Everything is fine. As long as he’s here, everything will always be fine._

Greg watched Mycroft’s movements closely as he slowly stepped towards him. He felt electricity surging through his veins, and he couldn’t help but think that it wasn’t like this last time. He felt giddy with love, almost like he was trembling from the anticipation, but with the constant reassurance that everything was going to be ok, because Mycroft would always be there.   
_How it’s supposed to be._

The ‘bridal’ party filled out into their places, and Mycroft stood before Gregory. He gazed into those chocolatey depths that shone up at him, smiling as he lost himself in the emotions reflected. Greg reached out and took Mycroft’s hands gently, acutely aware of the soft tingles that the man’s skin caused to rush through his body. Mycroft’s eyes darted to see the guests staring at them, and Greg could tell he was a little weary of being the object of attention. So Greg just smiled reassuringly to him and softly squeezed his hands. Mycroft focused on the feeling of Gregory’s hands, and was able to ignore the roomful of eyes in favour for the stunning man before him. 

The officiant spoke, but neither Greg nor Mycroft could hear him clearly. They were too wrapped up in staring at each other, unbelieving that it was actually happening. And then they were asked to say their vows. Mycroft went first. 

“Gregory. Before you, I was just an icy shell. You have brought light into my life, and a reason to be. I didn’t think I could be happy before you came into my life. When I first met you, I instantly saw how kind you were. Ever since that day, you never ceased to amaze me with your heart and mind. I know where I would be without you, and I worry what would have become of my brother as well. For so long, you were like family. The glue keeping us together and surviving. You became family when you saved me and gave me a purpose. And I am so very grateful to you for that, and for being given the chance to make it official today… and to live the rest of my life with you as _my_ family. 

“I vow to always stay by your side, no matter what life throws at us. We’ve already been through enough together, but I believe that it has just made us stronger. I know that I will sometimes be a difficult man to love, with my obligations. And it might even be dangerous. But my dear, I vow I will do everything in my power to keep you safe… and you know what that means.”

Greg nodded softly as Mycroft spoke the words. He knew that not everyone in the room would really understand the meaning behind what Mycroft had just said, but that didn’t matter. It was special between them. Greg took a breath and quietly cleared his throat. 

“Mycroft, I thought I knew what happiness was before you, but I was just floating in a grey cloud; lost and cut off to joy until you made me feel happiness, true happiness, again. You brought me back from the darkest place I’ve ever been. You called me your sunshine, and your light… but really, you are mine as well. I feel safe around you, knowing that no matter what happens you’ll be there. I can be myself, and I can be entirely open with you… because I know you won’t leave. You’ve already proven you’ll stick by me when the going gets tough, and I vow that I will do the same for you as well. I vow I’ll always be there to catch you when you fall, to save you. And I vow to always try my best to make you happy.” 

Mycroft smiled again, one of the rare times that the smile reached his eyes in public. Greg wished the man would smile like that more often, but also felt special that such raw emotion was reserved solely for him. They slipped the rings on each other’s fingers, revelling in the moment. The rings were much the same as the engagement ones, gold for Mycroft and white gold for Greg, except these were engraved with the other’s name on the inside. 

The officiant then concluded the ceremony.   
“You may now kiss.”

Greg tugged Mycroft’s hands gently as he leaned in to kiss him. His heart was pounding in excitement: their first kiss as a married couple. Mycroft was also excited, his lip trembling slightly. The small crowd applauded, and they could hear Mrs Hudson cry out in joy. Greg slid his hands around Mycroft’s waist and kissed him again, deeper this time. They broke apart to stare into each other’s eyes, foreheads touching, smiles beaming across their faces.   
“My husband.” Greg uttered.   
“My husband.” Mycroft repeated, and gently stroked Gregory’s cheek with his thumb. He’d never really understood the phrase ‘tears of joy’ before, but as he stood there holding his husband, he knew. He felt the liquid filling his eyes. He didn’t care if emotions made him weak anymore, because they made him _alive._ And life with Gregory was all he wanted. 

~

Greg and Mycroft were standing pressed together, Greg’s arms wrapped around Mycroft’s waist, and Mycroft’s arms on Greg’s shoulders, as they slow danced together. Sherlock sat at the table and watched them. He couldn’t help but feel sad deep down as his eyes flickered over to John. His brother had found happiness, and fate worked out that they could be together. Sherlock couldn’t help but feel upset that fate hadn’t done the same for him. He’d grown up with Mycroft telling him that caring is not an advantage, that he should not give in to the emotions… and yet here his brother was, blissfully wrapped up with his new husband. Sherlock was beginning to see that maybe Mycroft had been wrong, and that Mycroft had realised that too. Mycroft had talked of not being alive before Greg had come into his life… and that’s how Sherlock felt about John. 

Sherlock sighed and stood up to leave. He didn’t want to watch anymore. He was glad that his brother was finally, finally happy. He’d been chronically anhedonic for long enough. But it just served as a reminder that the one person whom could do the same for him was out of the question. Mary was sitting alone, also eyeing John with a sad look. Sherlock didn’t really want to have a conversation, but he felt obligated to bring happiness into John’s life however he could… _‘that’s just what you do when you love someone’_ Greg’s words echoed in his head. John had been happy with Mary. And so Sherlock sat down with her. 

“They are perfect for one another, aren’t they?” Mary commented.   
“Yes. I’m glad things worked out for my brother. He does deserve to be happy after all this time.” Sherlock responded without thinking. But he was comforted knowing that Mary would at least keep his words to herself.   
“I thought things were going to be just wedded bliss with me and John. But I should have known things would be revealed eventually. Secrets just don’t say secret the closer to someone you get.”   
Sherlock wasn’t sure if she was just talking about herself, or making a comment about Sherlock’s feelings for John.   
“He was happy with you. He will be again. I vowed I’d always be there for you… you three are my family. Well, those two idiots over there as well too.” Sherlock stated affectionately, pointedly jerking his thumb at the two men locked together in a loving embrace, occasionally kissing. Mary chuckled and smiled. She then let her eyes drift away from Greg and Mycroft standing flush together and over to the lonely doctor at the table in the corner. 

“I’ll talk him ‘round.” Sherlock said, repeating what Mary has said to him all that time ago.   
“You will?” She asked, smiling while copying what Sherlock’s expression had been at the time - minus the nosebleed.   
“Yeah. I will.” Sherlock said with a smile. He wanted John to be happy, even if it wasn’t with him. 

Greg nuzzled Mycroft’s neck and ran his fingers through his hair. Mycroft softly stroked Gregory’s back. He felt so warm and content.   
“It was a good day.” Greg commented quietly.   
“Indeed.”  
“And nothing horrible happened. It was all just… normal.” Greg said with a smile.   
“You expected otherwise?”  
“You never know, I thought the universe might have had a field day with all of us in the same room at once.”   
Mycroft chuckled a deep, throaty giggle. He hummed in response and ran his hand up and down Gregory’s back.   
“It seems the universe has decided to be lazy today.”  
“Good. I hope it stays lazy while we’re on our honeymoon.” Greg said, remembering that Mycroft had insisted that he still be available for emergencies that might arise while he was away. He didn’t think it was selfish to demand his new husband be off the grid for a week, talking with only him. Well, ‘talking’ was low on the list of things Greg had plans to do with Mycroft all week. 

Greg kissed Mycroft again, relishing the feeling of the warm body pressed against his.  
“There was just one weird thing. Why did Sherlock give you a fishbowl?”   
Mycroft actually laughed out loud at that. Greg pulled away from Mycroft to give him an inquisitive look. Mycroft just shook his head, and returned to cuddling and swaying to the soft music. 


	9. Sherlock's Secret

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, there is talk about rape in this chapter. 
> 
> Sherlock might be a bit OOC, but I wanted to try include some reasonings behind his stance.

The honeymoon had been spectacular. Mycroft allowed himself to indulge, and Greg …continued to indulge. They ate some of the most delicious foods Greg had tasted before. Mycroft had been hesitant regarding consuming so much dessert, but Greg had reminded him crudely that he’d be burning all the calories off each day. 

The sex had been amazing. Long, passionate, and frequent. Greg was surprised they’d even had enough energy to go sight seeing. Mycroft had thought it’d be nice to spend it in France, even though Greg didn’t speak a word of French despite his namesake. Greg wanted to bring home as much pastries and chocolate as he could, and Mycroft happily let him buy as much as he wanted. Mycroft had indeed put in some extra effort to be the more active participant in many of their encounters because of the sheer quantity of decadent foods Gregory fed him. 

Greg let his mind wander back over the previous week. He still got tingles thinking about their needy, passionate kissing before stripping each other and fucking furiously on the expensive hotel beds.  
“Greg, are you even listening?”

Greg snapped out of his mind and returned his attention to Sherlock. The man stood before him with a frown, and then sighed and rolled his eyes.   
“Look, if you’re going to just get yourself worked up remembering your sex holiday, then you might as well just go home and continue your amorous activities with my brother.” Sherlock grumbled.   
Greg coughed uncomfortably. Sherlock wasn’t wrong about getting himself worked up. He shifted in his seat and crossed his legs.   
“No, no I’m here to listen.” 

His friend had called him over to talk, but he hadn’t specified as to what. Greg could tell something had been bothering him, and assumed it was about John. Sherlock wrapped his arms around himself and threw himself onto the couch. Greg noticed the wince.   
“Hey, be careful. You’re still going to be tender for a while, even if you forget it.”  
“Yes, Mother.”  
“I’m just saying from experience.” Greg said solemnly, which was enough to get Sherlock to stop pouting and nod in response. There was silence, and Greg’s gut churned uncomfortably. There was something on Sherlock’s mind. 

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on, Sherlock?”  
“What are you talking about?”  
“I’m married to your brother, I know when a Holmes has something on their mind.”   
“Are you sure you’re not just looking for an excuse to say that?” Sherlock sneered at him.   
“Haha, yes, I do love hearing those words… but I’m serious. You are distracted.”  
“I… I invited John and Mary to Christmas dinner.”

Greg frowned.   
_What Christmas dinner?_

“Oh, Mycroft hasn’t told you? My parents have organised to have a Christmas dinner with the family.”  
“Right…” Greg said, disconcerted that he was hearing about it from Sherlock.   
“Relax, Lestrade. I’m sure he was going to tell you, he’s not ashamed of you. He did marry you in a fairly public fashion.”   
“Yes, yes of course. I just have a standing Christmas dinner with my mum planned. I’ll talk to him. So… you invited John and Mary? Why? Are they… alright?”  
“Um… I did talk with John and he’s thinking. I invited them because I was told it was a _family_ event.”

Greg smiled. But then the smile slowly faded. He had to be the one to bring it up.  
“Sherlock… why are you trying so hard to keep John and Mary together?”  
“Because… I want him to be happy.” Sherlock uttered quietly. Greg knew he wasn’t used to talking about his feelings much, and so tried to go slowly. 

“Look, don’t get me wrong… Mary is a great person, the … the shooting aside. John was happy with him. But you forcing them together might not be the best outcome.”  
“John can forgive betrayal. And it certainly strengthened your relationship with Mycroft.”  
“Yes, and yes… but Sherlock, the point I’m trying to make is… well… what about you?”

Sherlock sat up from the couch and looked directly at Greg.   
“What about me?”  
“Are you really willing to let him go?”  
“I … I would do anything for John.”  
“So why not be honest with him about your feelings?”  
“I… I … he… he won’t…” Sherlock stammered. Greg sighed and shifted so he was sitting forward on the chair.  
"He wouldn’t want me.” Sherlock finally said, almost too quiet for Greg to hear. Greg was surprised. 

“Why?”  
“I… I’m not someone that… people … want, for a relationship.” Sherlock managed to strangle out, and Greg knew there was something he wasn’t saying.   
“Tell me what happened, Sherlock.”   
“Forgive me if I don’t want to discuss my sexual history with you.”  
“I get that, but I think you need to, and I think I’m the only one who you have to tell.”

Sherlock eyed him cautiously, and then smirked… Lestrade was indeed becoming more observant. He wrestled with the idea of actually being open about his secret, but concluded that Greg was his friend, and brother-in-law, and had proven he could be trusted.   
_Perhaps it’s time that Mycroft found out._

“Mary told me at your wedding that the closer you get to someone, the harder it is to have secrets from them. I know that by telling this to you, you’ll find it difficult to keep it from my brother. He doesn’t know, as it is, but I am giving you permission to tell him. Just don’t let him do anything drastic in response.” Sherlock stated, before slouching forward. He sighed, took a deep breath and then faced Greg with a strengthened resolve. 

“It was when I was seventeen. As you can imagine, I was not well liked in school. Everyone made it clear they didn’t like me, and no one would dare to be seen with me in fear of being made fun of as well. It wasn’t fun, I grant you, but I didn’t mind as such. I felt like an outsider even when interacting with them, and so being alone wasn’t all that different. Still, I couldn’t help but long for the companionship that I observed my classmates having. And I couldn’t stop myself from feeling… things… regarding a boy. 

"His name was Daniel, but everyone called him Danny. He was very athletic, and was always playing sports of some kind. He was rather popular. As much as I didn’t want to get emotionally involved, I couldn’t help myself. I would sneak to the field to watch him play his games, I would try not to cause suspicion if I eyed him in the hallways. I couldn’t control my reactions to him.”

“Sounds like he was your first crush.” Greg said with a grin. Sherlock shot him a look that said ‘don’t interrupt me’, but also nodded. 

“I couldn’t stop thinking about him. I knew he’d never want to be with me, since I was so hated by everyone … but I found myself wishing he’d notice me. He was a year above me, but I was placed in advanced classes and so I ended up being in a couple of his. I tried to keep my head down and just do the work in those classes, but every now and again he’d catch me gazing at him. And the thing was… he didn’t shout at me for it. He’d just give me a grin. And so I began to think that maybe there was more to him than met the eye. 

“Not long into the school year, he approached me. We were alone and in a secluded area, and he told me that he was amazed by my intellect, and wanted to know if I’d help him in his studies. I was shocked. No one had ever said that to me before. I admit that I was stunned and didn’t return the most elegant of responses, but I agreed none the less. But he made it clear to me that no one could know.

“Pretty soon Danny would come over to my house. He’d somehow manage to get me to do his homework for him, and I was too besotted by him to care. All it took was a look from him with pleading eyes and I’d do as he asked. Then one day, out of nowhere, he came really close to me. He whispered in my ear that he knew I liked him, and that he liked me back. He then grabbed me and kissed me. I couldn’t believe it. I’d dreamt of it happening but never thought it possible.”

“Aw, that’s sweet.” Greg cried out, before rectifying his ‘listening’ pose at Sherlock’s glare. 

“For a time. He was insistent to keep the relationship a secret, because he didn’t want anyone knowing he was gay. I didn’t object, I was just glad he wanted me. But I started finding things difficult. I grew extremely attached to him emotionally, and so it began to really hurt me when he’d join in with his football buddies in tormenting me at school. He never really initiated it, but he could be quite demeaning in his words towards me. I’d tell him I didn’t like it, but he’d just say that I shouldn’t pay attention to it since it wasn’t how he really felt. That he liked me, but still had to keep up appearances at school. That it was all just an act and so I was silly to listen. It didn’t sit right with me, but I was afraid that the alternative was that he’d just leave me … and so I just said nothing.

“It didn’t take long for Danny to start to get physical with me. He’d touch me in places that I was uncomfortable with. But when I told him as such, he’d just tell me it was cause I was inexperienced. That I’d get used to it. But I never did. Every time he’d grope me suddenly, I felt my stomach flip - and not in an exciting way. Like I was going to be sick. I would just want him to stop, because I felt intimidated by the fervour he’d touch me with. But he’d whisper nice things into my ear, tell me it was all ok, and to just let it happen.

“When he started trying to take it further, I actually stopped him and said that I was uncomfortable with sex. That I didn’t want to, that I wasn’t ready. He just said that I was nervous since it was the first time, and that everyone is nervous. He reminded me that no one else was going to want to do that with me, and so I should be happy that he was. But the thought of sex with him scared me, and so I didn’t just give in that time. And then he changed. Those aggressive parts of his personality that had made me uncomfortable in the past all came out at once. He grabbed me and shouted at me, insulting me. Told me I wasn’t man enough to do it, and so he’d have to just show me how it was done. He… took me, and … used me. I was too scared to resist, as he was a lot stronger than I was and he was already using a lot of force. It… it hurt. Physically and emotionally. No part of it was comfortable. He’d still tell me that I should be grateful while forcing himself into me. That I owed it to him for putting up with me. And then once he was done, he just left. I didn’t know what else to do but curl up and cry.”

“Sherlock…you… your first experience was rape?” Greg asked hesitantly. He didn’t want to say ‘only’, but he had a feeling that was true as well. Sherlock gravely nodded. 

“I couldn’t trust anyone. I felt so hurt and betrayed. I wanted to tell Mycroft what had happened… but I was terrified. I couldn’t even tell why. I just knew I couldn’t trust anyone anymore. Mycroft had moved on to goodness knows what and I barely saw him. But still, I sought comfort from him. He’d always been there for me before. He thought that I was upset because the other boys were teasing me. They all went back to teasing me after that… Danny wasn’t friendly towards me after that day. Mycroft thought it was normal that I swore off relationships or anything to do with them, telling me that he’d always thought I seemed asexual and so it wasn’t a surprise. So he told me again how caring wasn’t an advantage, and I saw his point. Not wanting a relationship meant I wouldn’t get hurt. I kept my distance from everyone since then, like he’d done. I sometimes wondered if he did it for the same reason. 

“So from then on I tried to continue my studies and work without thinking about relationships. Mycroft was right, it was easier to just not care about it than to long for something I couldn’t have.” Sherlock concluded, looking horrifically uncomfortable but relieved at the same time. 

“Why do you think you can’t have a relationship, Sherlock?” Greg asked inquisitively.   
“Because I can’t give a partner what they need. I’m afraid of them getting frustrated at the lack of sex and it ending up the same way… taking it because they think they’re owed it from me.”  
“Surely you don’t think John would do that…”  
“I… I don’t think so, no. But he is a sexual person, and his temper is sometimes alarmingly similar to Danny. And I try to hide how it scares me. Besides, I couldn’t give him a physical relationship as he’d need, even if I crave an emotional one.” 

Greg nodded solemnly, and his eyes flickered about. It was indeed unusual to hear Sherlock talk of himself in such a way. But there was something eating at his mind.   
“Sherlock, I have to ask… are you legitimately not interested in sex, or are you afraid of it from your past?”

Sherlock stilled and looked contemplative. He sunk down further and uttered his response, barely a whisper.   
“I have had physical desires. I try hard to shove them away.”  
“Denying yourself that isn’t healthy for you, Sherlock; and it just goes to show that you could give John what he needs for a complete relationship - not that I believe John would require sex from you, just that I think he’d like sex to be a part of his relationship…”  
“I am aware, Lestrade. I…I just… am unable.”

Greg raised his eyebrow questioningly. Sherlock sighed, flushing slightly red.   
“Every time I feel any sexual desire, I suddenly feel panic and overwhelmed. My mind rushes back to that moment in my past, and I end up feeling just anxiety… nothing else. It crushes out any desire I might have had, both mentally and physically. It’s better to just not want it.” 

Greg swallowed gently.   
“Sherlock, I’m going to be honest. I think you have a real trauma with this. But it can be better if you want it to be. I mean, you don’t have to…you can chose to be asexual not nor participate in relationships — sexual or otherwise. But I think you do want a relationship with John, and I think this issue will become a problem for you in the future. I’m not saying you have to address it now, but that… I honestly don’t believe John would be like Danny, and he’d always make you feel comfortable. And if that happens, you might feel the desire to go further, and then have this stand in the way.”

Sherlock frowned and grumbled softly, but Greg knew that that meant he was right and Sherlock knew it. Greg nodded to his friend with a smile.   
“Thank you for sharing. Did it help?”  
“I… I think so, actually. It’s… nice to not have it be a secret anymore.” Sherlock admitted. Greg patted him on the arm gently.   
“I’m glad I could help. It’s what family is for.”   
“I still am going to keep trying get John and Mary together again, though.” 

Greg sighed. Of course he was.   
“Why?”  
“I promised. And considering I’ve only just spoken about my difficulties for the first time, it will be some time before I’m ready to take that step and try a relationship. John needn’t suffer while I try fix myself. I am happy to have him in my life in any regard.”  
“He’s a good bloke, you should still talk to him. I’m sure he’d wait.”  
“But then we have the problem of him still being married and not gay.”   
“Well, I think only one of those is actually a problem.” Greg said with a grin, and raised his eyebrow at Sherlock, leaving him to figure out which it was.   
“Just talk to him at least.”  
“I… fine. I can see you aren’t going to let it go. I’ll talk with him, but not in this detail, obviously. That is for you and you alone.” Sherlock grumbled, but Greg could tell he was secretly pleased to have been given permission. 


	10. A Stressful Christmas

Greg was sitting with Mycroft at the dinner table. He’d made seared salmon with a green salad, and a dill and tarragon sauce. Greg was almost half way, but Mycroft had barely started. Greg had noticed his husband’s reluctance to eat as of late, and so had tried to prepare him some tasty, but healthy, meals in the hopes he’d eat a decent amount.  
“I spoke with Sherlock today. He said that your family is having a Christmas dinner this year?”

Mycroft looked up from his plate. He nodded stiffly, obviously indicating his dislike for such an event.   
“Yes. My mother has decided that since Sherlock is out of hospital, we should all get together as a family.”  
“Sounds reasonable.”  
“It will be arduous. I apologise for not telling you sooner, and that you had to hear it from my brother. I have been busy as of late at work and I neglected to bring it up.”  
“That’s ok, love. I noticed. I only bring it up because we had already agreed to go to my Mum’s for Christmas.”

Mycroft’s face fell as he remembered. The sheer anxiety of Christmas with his family had pushed any thoughts of attending Gregory’s family’s dinner well into the background.   
“Forgive me, I had forgotten.”  
“Nah, that’s alright. I still have to go, family tradition and all that. But I can come up to your parents’ place the day after?”  
“You are really ok with me not attending Christmas with you and your family on the first year of our marriage?” Mycroft asked with a frown. He’d honestly hoped that Gregory would join him to his parents’ dinner.   
“Well, no. But it is how it is. Don’t worry, it’ll be fine. I’ll get to see you the next morning.” Greg said, grinning as his shovelled the last of his salmon into his mouth. Mycroft smiled back and shook his head playfully at the glee his husband showed from eating. 

They finished up their meal in silence, Greg occasionally sipping wine while Mycroft slowly cleared his plate. He then collected the dishes and put them on the sink.   
“So, what else did you talk about with my dear brother?” Mycroft asked as he carried over their glasses. A pang of anxiety tugged at Greg’s gut, but he decided to try and just talk about it casually. Probably not as casual as bursting out with, ‘hey, so did you know Sherlock was raped?’, though.   
“Oh, um, we talked about sex.” 

Mycroft froze and nearly dropped the glasses on the bench.   
“Excuse me? You discussed our sex life with my brother?”   
“Haha, oh lord no. He’d never stay in the room long enough to hear it. Not that I would tell him intimate details. No, we talked about his.” Greg said, putting the dishes into the dishwasher. He could feel Mycroft raise his eyebrow in that adorable fashion.   
“What sex life? His pining after John?”  
“No, well yeah, that was part of it. He actually told me about his first, and I suspect only, sexual experience. He was in high school.”  
“He… he never told me.” Mycroft stated, a little hurt.   
“It… didn’t end well, he said he felt he couldn’t tell you.”  
“What do you mean, Gregory?” Mycroft’s voice was clipped as he asked. Greg stood up and faced him.   
“He…er…he was raped. By his abusive so-called partner. Then he decided that he never wanted to attempt any kind of relationship again.” Greg said. 

Mycroft frowned. He could hear the blood rush through his body. He was so very angry that someone had done that to his little brother, and so ashamed that he’d not known about it. That Sherlock had felt like he couldn’t tell him. 

“Mycroft, deep breaths, remember?” Greg commented, noticing that Mycroft was headed for another panic attack. He’d been having them more frequently since Sherlock was shot; Greg figured he still wasn’t as over it as he’d said. Mycroft nodded at his husband, and focused just on taking regular breaths. 

“Who?” Mycroft managed to ask.   
“I don’t know, Myc, but Sherlock told me to make you promise not to do anything drastic in retaliation. So I’m assuming he’s not going to want to tell you who.” 

Mycroft looked away, still tense.   
“Listen, why don’t we just relax with a movie now. You can tell me about how you’re feeling, that usually helps.” Greg suggested, using his arm to indicate to the living room. Mycroft nodded, and walked up to hug Gregory close.   
“At least I got him to agree to talk to John about his feelings.”  
“You are a miracle, Gregory dear.” Mycroft said, kissing his husband’s head.   
“I know, you’ve told me.” Greg responded with a cheeky grin. 

~

Mycroft breathed deeply, trying to suppress the irritation bubbling up. He wished Gregory was there with him. Hours on end with his family, minus the most important member to him, was not his idea of an enjoyable Christmas. Sherlock was being particularly irritating. But, at least it seemed like he was going to have ‘the conversation’ with John. It was obvious he’d brought his junkie friend to orchestrate a private moment. Ordinarily Mycroft would have resisted and revealed his brother’s little plan, but the knowledge of Sherlock’s past made him just let Sherlock do what he needed. Mycroft had been subdued since finding out. But he couldn’t help his frustration at being alone seep through. His mother hadn’t let him just attend Gregory’s Christmas instead, and he was intent on letting her know he wasn’t thrilled about it. 

“Am I happy too, I haven’t checked?” Mycroft quipped with a rehearsed grin. His mother didn’t miss the meaning.  
“Behave, Myc!” Violet told him exasperatedly. The nickname ground against him, reminding him of Gregory.  
“Mycroft is the name you gave me, if you could possibly struggle all the way to the end…”

Thankfully, Sherlock’s friend interrupted. Mycroft continued to grumble to himself in his head that Sherlock got to invite anyone he liked, but he couldn’t be excused to spend Christmas Day with his husband. He was also not impressed at his mother’s scolding of him in favour for praising Sherlock, but he guessed that wasn’t anything new. Violet Holmes always had thought of Mycroft as uncaring and ‘should know better’, but Sherlock was her precious little boy. Not entirely unlike Gregory’s raising, Mycroft thought to himself. 

Once their mother had left the room, Sherlock turned to Mycroft.   
“Uncharacteristically brash with her, aren’t you? Missing your husband that much?”  
“If it’s all the same to you, Sherlock, I’d appreciate it if you’d shut it.”  
“My, my, you are irritable.”  
“Just get your conversation with him over with.”  
“Lestrade told you?”  
“Of course he did. Sherlock…” Mycroft began to talk, but their mother walked back into the kitchen. He promptly shut his mouth.   
“Drink your punch, Mycroft. Then, come outside; we can talk out there for a moment.” Sherlock said, slowly standing up. Mycroft frowned, but drank his glass of punch. It was indeed laced with sedatives, but he said nothing. No doubt his brother didn’t want any eavesdropping, although it was a rather extreme measure to ensure it. 

Mycroft stood by Sherlock’s side, both of them staring out away from the house.   
“You could have told me, Sherlock.” Mycroft said with a tone of sorrow.  
“I was afraid. You were off doing things you couldn’t tell me about, and I didn’t think you’d react well.”  
“I would have helped. I certainly wouldn’t have just continued to push you to stay away from people. I’m… I’m sorry.”  
“What?”  
“I said I’m sorry. I wanted to always be there for you.”  
“You’ve gotten emotional in your relationship, brother mine.”  
“Yes,” Mycroft agreed slowly, breathing in his cigarette, “But I believe it has been for the better. I hope that you might find the same.” Mycroft hinted, and coughed briefly. He’d quit for Gregory, but the day had been proving rather stressful and he’d decided that Gregory wasn’t there to scold him for it. His body was seemingly rebelling against the old habit. Sherlock nodded to him, and then they both straightened themselves; their intimate conversation over. 

“I’m glad you’ve given up on the Magnussen business.” Mycroft stated, changing the topic of conversation.   
“Are you?” Sherlock asked, glad that his brother believed so.   
“I’m still curious, though. It’s hardly you usual kind of puzzle. Why do you hate him?”  
“Because he attacks people who are different and preys on their secrets. Why don’t you?” Sherlock snapped.   
“He never causes too much damage to anyone important, he’s far too intelligent for that. He’s a business man, that’s all. And occasionally useful to us. A necessary evil, not a dragon for you to slay.” Mycroft stated, trying hard not to say anything that would entice his brother further. He really didn’t want the Eurus thing revealed. Sherlock turned and smiled.   
“A dragon slayer? Is that what yo think of me?”  
“No,” Mycroft said with a brotherly grin, “It’s what you think of yourself.” 

Their close moment was broken by their mother snapping at them. They both reacted much as they had as boys, and it was hard for Mycroft not to giggle. He then told Sherlock about the job offer that his colleagues had been insistent Mycroft relay. He was glad that Sherlock declined without retaliation. He was not glad, however, when Sherlock sounded honest when he asked why Mycroft didn’t want him to take the suicide mission. He turned to his brother, trying hard not to let his pain show. He responded with his usual bullshit, hoping Sherlock would see beyond the mask. 

“Here be dragons.” Mycroft said with clear fondness in his voice. He involuntarily coughed again and decided that rebelling against his husband’s wishes wasn’t worth it.   
“This isn’t agreeing with me. I’m going in.”   
“You need low tar, you still smoke like a beginner.” Sherlock mused as Mycroft walked back into the house. Mycroft paused. He … he couldn’t keep it in. Since Gregory came along, he’d been a lot more open about his emotions and affections. It had been a good change. He wanted to try and keep that change, even with his brother… particularly since the shooting. Learning that it was his cold detachment that had prevented Sherlock seeing out his help after being raped made Mycroft want to be honest with his little brother about his affections. 

“Also,” Mycroft began, “Your loss would break my heart.”   
Sherlock coughed.   
“What the _hell_ am I supposed to say to that?”  
“Merry Christmas?” Mycroft offered after turning to face Sherlock.   
“You hate Christmas.” Sherlock retorted, still confused.   
“Yes. Perhaps there was something in the punch?” Mycroft suggested, but really meant to let his brother know that he knew what he was planning, and was wishing him luck with his conversation with John.   
“Clearly. Go and have some more.” Sherlock stated, not wanting Mycroft to suspect anything other than just ‘private time with John’. 

Mycroft walked back into the house and sat at the table in the kitchen. He resisted the urge to phone Gregory. He could feel drowsiness start to take a hold of him, and he suddenly wished that he’d elected to sit in the couch. It was faster than he expected; he didn’t even feel himself lowering down onto the tabletop. 

~

When Mycroft stirred awake, he realised that the cold hard kitchen table, and his hand, were pressing up against his face. He groaned, and then sat up, undoubtedly having an impression of his hand remaining on his cheek. He blearily looked about: his mother was still in the chair opposite him, and there wasn’t any movement anywhere in the house. And then that was when he realised something was missing. He grasped the empty space between where his hand had been and the table, searching for his laptop. His stomach dropped. What had his brother done?

He jumped up and immediately began to search the house.   
“Sherlock?!” He called, but he knew there was no point. His brother wasn’t there. There’d only be one reason for him to steal Mycroft’s laptop. His mind raced at a million miles and hour. He heard groaning noises, knowing that his family were awakening.   
“John?” Mary weakly called out.   
“Mary?” Mycroft responded, and walked into the living room to see Mary trying to sit up.   
“Mycroft? What’s going on?”  
“Something… unfortunate.” Mycroft groaned, unwilling to reveal what was happening. Mary’s stern look at him made him relinquish his control. He let his worry seep out over his face.   
“I fear my brother, and your husband, have stolen state secrets to sell to Magnussen in exchange for your safety.”   
“Oh, God… what are we going to do?”  
“First, I’m going to call work. I believe I can make this work in my favour… excuse me.” Mycroft said, stepping away and pulling out his phone. His first instinct was to call Gregory, but he shook his head slightly and phoned Anthea. 

Moments later, Mycroft returned to the living room, where his parents were both now conjugated.   
“I have informed the authorities as to the situation, and they will be sending a helicopter shortly to take me to Magnussen. I assured them that it is, in all likelihood, Magnussen blackmailing my brother into bringing the laptop to him — that it was he requesting to be sold the information. But I can use that as an advantage. Extortion to gain state secrets is punishable on the highest levels, and we will gain the legal rights to search the premises to find more incriminating evidence. You are lucky that such a catch as Magnussen is enough to absolve any transgressions made by your husband, as well as my brother.” Mycroft stated, his anxiety lowering now that he had control of the situation again. Mary just nodded thankfully at him, and his parents both looked confused. He excused himself, and went to wait for the helicopter to arrive, leaving Mary to explain the situation to the rest of his family. 

Unfortunately, it was dark by the time he and his team arrived at Appledore. Mycroft knew that Magnussen would deny any involvement, and that he would no doubt demand they leave. But possession of the laptop at any rate was enough to warrant at least some search, and Mycroft knew he had the man there. Mycroft was excited that he’d finally be able to get rid of this blackmail master. He felt glad to be protecting his family from Magnussen, given what had happened to Sherlock because of his involvement; and so he could understand why Sherlock was going to such extremes to protect John and Mary. There was just a little part of him that was sad for his little brother, for electing to not actually talk with John about his feelings.

And then in a blink of an eye, as the shot was fired, everything changed. Mycroft’s heart jumped to his throat and he had to strangle to shout out not to shoot. He…he couldn’t believe it. What had his little brother done? _Why?_ How could it all have gone to hell? Magnussen, killed in cold blood…by Sherlock. He … he was so sure that this was going to be a good day. He was utterly horrified and overwhelmed. What was he going to do now? He once again failed to protect his family. His baby brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all find my explanation as to why Mycroft knew the punch was laced, but said nothing, plausible.


	11. For Family

Mycroft was in a daze as Sherlock was arrested and incarcerated. John, having kept his distance, was ignored and allowed to return home to Mary. Mycroft only was in Sherlock’s presence for a moment, and all he could ask was a bewildered and quiet ‘ _why’_. He didn’t even really mean it as a question. Sherlock looked him firmly in the eye, deep sadness shadowing in his blue eyes, and responded to him: _I kept my vow. Appledore is gone._ Mycroft still had enough mental faculties to realise that Magnussen’s Appledore Vaults were a mind palace, and Sherlock had just taken it out. But in the shock of it all, he couldn’t care. He watched as his brother was taken away, his heart heavy. He pulled out his phone and called the one person whom had any chance in hell in making him feel better. 

Greg was relaxing on the couch. His mother had cooked a large and delicious Christmas meal, and he’d indulged a little too much. At least he wasn’t alone: everyone else, his mother included, was lazing about the place. Marge had been there, of course, as had Sophie and her family. His niece and nephew had loved the presents he and Mycroft had gotten them (although Mycroft really didn’t have much to do with it), and there still remained shards of wrapping paper scattered about the lounge room. Under the tree was a single small solitary present: one for Mycroft from his mother. Greg smiled warmly looking at it. He’d pouted to know what it was, but his mother had snatched the gift back off him so Greg would stop shaking it to his ear. 

Then Greg’s phone rang. He’d half expected Mycroft to phone him during the day, but Mycroft had been good and done as Greg had asked. He’d requested that his husband try at least interact with his family while he was there, and not to just spend the whole time on the phone. He picked up his phone and smiled seeing that it was Mycroft.   
“Hey, love. Merry Christmas.” Greg said.   
“Come home now.” Mycroft stated, and Greg instantly sat upright at his tone.   
“Mycroft? What is it? What’s wrong?”

There was silence, and Greg could hear Mycroft’s ragged breathing.   
“Home. Now. Please.” Mycroft strangled out, and then hung up. 

Greg’s heart was pounding so hard he could hear the blood rush through his ears.   
“Mum! I … I’ve got to go. Something’s come up.”  
“Oh, um, that’s ok sweetie. Don’t forget Mycroft’s present.” Betty said, confused but friendly. She stood up while Greg was struggling to get his coat on, and fetched the gift from under the tree. She handed it to him at the door. He took it and shoved it into his pocket, leaned in and briefly kissed her cheek, and then he was off. 

Greg drove fast back to their home in London. He wasn’t dangerous, but he wasn’t exactly careful either. He was just glad that there was next to no traffic at that hour. He arrived back at the house within 45 minutes. Greg burst through the door and ran into the house. His adrenaline was thrumming through his veins and he couldn’t stop panting. 

“Mycroft! Myc! Where are you?” He shouted, running to the living room. He stopped dead when he saw his husband curled up in a tight ball on the couch near the fireplace. He looked pale, and like he was going to be sick. Greg rushed over to his side, but was careful about touching him. 

“Mycroft… I’m here.” Greg said slowly, and Mycroft’s wet eyes drifted over to focus on his husband. He leaned forward into Gregory’s chest, and Greg wrapped his arms around him tightly. He could feel Mycroft shaking. 

“What happened, love?” Greg asked again, worried. Somehow in his gut, he knew it was Sherlock. Mycroft’s brother was one of the few things that could make him get into this state.   
“Sherlock…” Mycroft began, confirming Greg’s assumptions, “He… he shot Magnussen.” Mycroft breathed. Greg’s eyebrows flew up in shock.   
“He…what? He killed Magnussen? That guy you told me about?”  
“Yes.”   
“Why?”  
“I… I don’t know exactly. I only saw him briefly before…before they took him away. He said that Appledore was gone now, which I assume means that he did it to protect Mary and thus protect John.”  
“Ok. He did it for family.” Greg said, confused as to what ‘Appledore’ was, but decided it was a question for later. Right now, Mycroft needed support. 

“Gregory… I don’t think I can protect him on this one.” Mycroft said, defeated, and his tone made Greg’s heart plummet. Mycroft felt utterly broken, it was obvious. Greg stroked his back up and down softly.   
“What’s going to happen to him now?” Greg asked cautiously. He felt the trembles rack Mycroft’s body at the question.   
“Normally… he’d be sent to prison for premeditated murder. He’s incarcerated in solitary confinement at the moment. But he’d not survive in that environment for long, and it would likely not contain him anyway with success for the staff. At least that’s what I’m going to say to my people.”

Greg thought about his response carefully before saying it. He didn’t want to get Mycroft even more worked up.   
“Myc, I … I know you always want to be the protective big brother. But Sherlock understood what was going to happen after he did…what he did. He’s an adult, and it’s not your responsibility to fix the consequences for him.” 

Mycroft mumbled something Greg couldn’t make out, and then began to properly cry. Greg hummed softly to him, continuing to stroke his back.   
“It’ll be alright love, he’s still alive. You can still see him. The worst hasn’t happened.”  
“I can’t let him live that life, Gregory.” Mycroft sniffled. Greg just nodded, his chin on Mycroft’s head so he knew the man could tell his agreement. He didn’t know what to say. There didn’t seem to be any other options, however. Even if Sherlock killed this man that had done such awful things, that didn’t exonerate his actions. He still committed murder. 

They sat there on the couch for some time until Mycroft had calmed down. He was grateful that Gregory had remained and held him close. He’d even been able to smile when Gregory had reached into his pocket and given him the little gift that Betty had bought for him. It was a stone, a large pebble, that had the word ‘family’ engraved on the top, accompanied with a card with a small poem on it. It was a warm gesture. 

“I can’t abandon him, dear.” Mycroft spoke.   
“I don’t expect you to, Myc. He’s family. We don’t abandon family.” Greg said, his voice hitching.   
“I can’t let him to go prison.”   
“But what would the alternative be, Myc?”  
“Before … this, my people were fairly adamant that Sherlock accept work for MI6 in Eastern Europe. I told him to decline, since I was unable to convince the others to retract their demands. I believe that accepting this work would be an acceptable alternative in their eyes.”   
“But?” Greg asked, and Mycroft looked up at him.   
“What do you mean?” Mycroft enquired.   
“Well, there must be a reason why you wanted Sherlock to decline the job offer in the first place.”   
“Yes.” Mycroft state quietly, and Greg heard the hesitation in his voice. But he had to know.  
“Why?”  
“Because… I had predicted that the mission would prove fatal to him in six months.” 

Greg released Mycroft and looked at him incredulously.   
“WHAT?!” Greg shouted, loud enough to make Mycroft jump.   
“Gregory…”  
“No, I’m serious. What? You don’t want your brother to go to prison for murder, so instead you want to send him on a suicide mission?! You want to ship him away so his last days are alone in a foreign country, instead of at least being able to see his family here, at home, from time to time? Are you insane?” Greg ranted, getting angrier at Mycroft that he strictly wanted to. Mycroft tore his gaze away from Gregory, and shamefully buried his face in his arms. Greg stood up and started pacing before him. 

“Sherlock would break in prison. And I…I can’t do that to another family member.” Mycroft uttered, and then panicked when he realised what he’d just said.   
“What?”  
“Nothing.”  
“No, seriously, Myc, tell me what you mean by that.” Greg insisted. There was something Mycroft wasn’t telling him, and in the heat of the moment, he didn’t care if it was a state secret.   
“I can’t talk about it more, Gregory. Please leave it alone. What I can say is this: Sherlock would soon become a shell of whom he is now. It is kinder to let him live his last days as the man he is, than to forcefully keep him alive as a broken shadow.”  
“No, Mycroft. Firstly I disagree on principle, and secondly I don’t think you should be the one to make that decision.”  
“There’s no one else!” Mycroft shouted back, and was met by shock. Mycroft was always so careful never to raise his voice at Gregory, or really anyone. Greg wasn’t sure what to make of it. He saw the desperation in Mycroft’s eyes, and the pain of burden. Greg realised that he was actually telling him the truth: that he was the one to make the decision over Sherlock’s life, and having to chose between quality of life and length of life.Greg sighed, the anger abated, and sat back with Mycroft. 

“Don’t you think Sherlock would want a say in this?” Greg asked finally, his arms rested on his knees.   
“I… I can extend the options to him, but I believe he’d chose the MI6 path. He’s always been a free spirit. Caging him just isn’t right.”  
“He’d probably think he’d be able to pull it off, despite your expectations.”  
“Possibly. But I’m afraid that in this case, I doubt I am wrong.” Mycroft said, sighing. He unfurled himself to rest in a similar position to his husband, and leant his head on Gregory’s shoulder.   
“At least he got what he wanted. Protecting his family.”  
“Yes. I’m sure he’d be happy to die for that. He was willing to die for his family before.”

Greg turned to look at Mycroft, an eyebrow raised.   
“It wasn’t fool-proof, you know. He still had to jump off that building, and there was always the chance that something was going to go wrong. We minimised the risk as much as possible, but one can never fully anticipate everything. Sherlock was truly prepared to die for you, John, and Mrs Hudson, if it came to it.” Mycroft spoke softly. 

Greg felt his muscles tense at the memory, and at the realisation that Mycroft was right. He wrapped his arm around his husband once more, and kissed his temple.   
“Terrible things keep happening to me, Gregory. I can’t help but wonder if it was me that caused them to happen, or if I deserve it.” Mycroft said, feeling lost.   
“Terrible things happen, love. You don’t deserve it, I can tell you that now. And you always try to do the right thing. Don’t beat yourself up because life has decided to give you the short end of the stick, and don’t you dare think that it’s the universe balancing out your being happy with me.” Greg stated firmly, giving his husband a supportive shake. Mycroft nodded, having actually been thinking that. He was glad Gregory could read him so well sometimes. 

“Gregory…I feel I don’t deserve you. Here you are doing all you can to support me, and I am honestly being conflicted about whether I should choose you or Sherlock.”   
“What… what are you talking about?”

“I was never going to let him die in Eastern Europe. I would feign indifference to my colleagues, I would give them the spiel of not caring and him deserving it… and no one would bring up what we are all thinking that it would indeed be a suicide mission. I would tell them that Sherlock was needed, and that they couldn’t just imprison him anyway. And then I would get him out.”  
“Like last time?”  
“No. Last time I had the support of the government to go undercover and extract him. I would be going alone.”   
“Ah.” Greg said, suddenly understanding what Mycroft meant by the choice between him and Sherlock. Greg couldn’t deny the stab of pain in his chest at the thought. 

“It would be dangerous, and I don’t know if I could ever return to England with him. But I can’t let him die. I would protect him, Gregory… but it… it would mean, that you and I …” Mycroft started, but began to break down into tears as he spoke and was unable to finish.   
“You wouldn’t end things with me to go look for your brother, would you?” Greg asked uncertainly.   
“I…I couldn’t ask you to stay here alone while I was selfish and risked my life. I couldn’t ask you to join me. I don’t know what to do.” Mycroft wailed. Greg wanted to be angry at the words, but the sheer pain in Mycroft’s voice, how lost he sounded, made him still feel bad for his husband.   
“I love you with all my heart, Gregory. Never doubt that. I would die for you easily. If I had to hurt you to save Sherlock, then… well… if we both died, it wouldn’t matter. I’d have deserved as much.”  
“Don’t say that. Don’t ever say that. Your life is valuable to me, and damn it Mycroft, use that big brain of yours to come up with a solution. You’re panicking, you’re stressed, you’re downright broken and lost. Of course you can’t think of an ingenious solution right now. But that doesn’t mean you won’t. You just need to calm down, give it some time, and then we’ll work out what to do together.” Greg said forcefully, a little bit concerned for Mycroft’s suicidal comment. 

Mycroft stilled and considered Gregory’s words carefully. The realisation of how true it was hit him like a bus, and he was overwhelmed by guilt.   
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry Gregory…” Mycroft repeated, over and over, into Gregory’s chest. Greg took a deep breath and held him close.   
“It’s ok love.” Greg cooed, but he remained worried. Keeping his family together was proving a lot more difficult than he’d ever anticipated. 

 


	12. No One Else

Greg initially had said he’d wait at home for Mycroft, but found that his nerves were eating away at him and his emotions were quickly becoming unbearable. And so, he’d gone off to the pub for a pint. He’d asked for the day off, but he felt like it would be better if Mycroft had some time to himself with Sherlock. Greg had gone to see Sherlock the day before; since he was a DCI, he was allowed to visit the ‘prisoner’. It had been emotional for him. He’d never thought he’d have to say goodbye to Sherlock, and found it exceedingly difficult to do so. Sherlock tried to put on a smile, to reassure Greg that it was ok. 

Sherlock told him that John and Mary were ok now, and that it was as it was supposed to be. They couldn’t talk deeply since they were still under surveillance. Greg tried to keep it together, but he knew Sherlock could tell — he wasn’t doing a very good job at hiding his distress. Greg could also see the sadness in the detective’s eyes. He knew that it was an actual goodbye. Sherlock knew it was going to be a suicide mission. And yet, he’d elected to do it anyway. Greg had said he didn’t know what he was going to do with the tough cases anymore, and Sherlock had praised him; said that Greg didn’t really need him anymore. And that made the dam keeping back Greg’s tears break. 

Greg had embraced Sherlock in a tight hug, sniffling. Sherlock had, while surprised at first, reciprocated the hug. Greg’s heart lurched as he remembered his final words with Sherlock.   
_“Goodbye… brother.”_

Sherlock had been shaken by the comment, Greg could tell. It was in his voice when he’d responded.   
_“Take care of Mycroft for me, Greg. He’s going to need you. Goodbye.”_

Greg cleared his throat and wiped his eyes as he sat with a beer on the table before him in the back corner of the pub. It was emotional, but at least it wasn’t final. Greg hadn’t said anything about Mycroft’s plan. Well, plan to have a plan. His husband still hadn’t thought of what to do to solve the problem, but had at least resolved to get Sherlock on the mission and then work out a way to exonerate him. Greg didn’t push it, he didn’t even ask… it was all still very stressful for Mycroft. 

He looked at the clock. Sherlock was due to depart at any moment. Greg wondered how John was handling things. They’d not really spoken much since the incident; Greg had been preoccupied with consoling Mycroft. But the brief exchange they did have let Greg know that John and Mary were ok again, mostly thanks to Sherlock. It pained Greg that Sherlock never did as promised and talk to John, but it didn’t matter now. Maybe it was even for the best, considering. At least John got to say a proper goodbye now, and maybe, just maybe, he’d take the opportunity to say those unspoken words between them. Greg doubted it though. Admitting to feelings during a goodbye would only leave them both hurting. 

Greg sighed and figured he’d best be getting home. He didn’t want his husband to arrive to an empty house. But, there was only a few minutes left of the match he’d been watching, and so decided he might as well stand at the bar (having just paid his tab) and see the end of the game. And that was when he saw Moriarty. His face fell. Of all days for this to happen… it had to be now. He promptly left the pub for home. Mycroft would undoubtedly be beside himself with this new development as well as the Sherlock stuff. 

It had been some time since Greg had gotten home, and Greg had expected Mycroft home almost immediately after, or at least a phone call. He tried not to let the worry twist his insides, but he was failing the more time wore on. He told himself that Mycroft was just preoccupied with Moriarty, that nothing terrible had happened. He jumped when he heard the front door slam shut.

Mycroft appeared in the doorway, looking utterly run down, but a meek smile adorned his face. Greg stood up and walked over to him and embraced him in a firm hug. Mycroft accepted it gratefully, and held Gregory back.   
“I… I was worried when you didn’t return or call.”  
“Forgive me, Gregory. Things suddenly all changed.”  
“Moriarty, I know.”   
“Indeed. But Sherlock’s back.” Mycroft said, the cause of his smile revealed. It quickly faded, however. 

They moved back over to the couch, Mycroft taking off his suit jacket and placing it over the armchair before sitting beside his husband. 

“Sherlock has been requested back to address the Moriarty threat. It was excellent timing, actually. However, my brother has overdosed on a mixture of drugs. I was organising some care for him, as he refused to go to the hospital.” Mycroft said stoically, in his usual detached manner in order to get the words out. Greg could see through it easily.   
“God, bad?”  
“Severe enough to be life threatening. When I realised I was just disappointed that he slipped back into it. He was high before he got on the plane. He made a list, at least. I … I don’t believe it was as accidental as he claims.” Mycroft said, his voice laced with worry. Greg reached out and held his arm firmly.   
“Why?”  
“Why what?”  
“I know that look, Myc. I can tell you have a reason why he did it and it hurts you.”  
“It seems evident to me that Sherlock believed that he was to face death in six months of his departure, and seeing as that time away from John is said to be the most difficult of his life, he chose to end things before having to suffer through that again. He wanted John to be the last thing he saw.” 

Greg was motionless as Mycroft spoke. It was a sobering reality.   
“I should have told him. It’s my fault he did this…” Mycroft spoke quietly.  
“Hey, no.” Greg said forcefully, pulling Mycroft into his arms once again. He could feel the tremors rack Mycroft’s thin frame. He then decided to have him lay along the length of the couch, his head in Greg’s lap. It would be an awkward position normally, but under the circumstances, Greg felt it might help. Mycroft was surprisingly pliant to his actions, only reinforcing the need for them. 

“Mycroft, you were prepared to do anything for your brother. Just as he did for me and John, wherein neither of us could know the truth. This is the same. He couldn’t know. It is not your fault he tried to do this.” Greg spoke sternly, but still reeling at the reality of it all.   
“I should have anticipated this, though. Of course John would be the last thing Sherlock would want to see, there has been no one else.” Mycroft snarled at himself, looking away from Gregory’s concerned face. Greg gently moved his chin back to look up at him. 

“Mycroft… please don’t blame yourself.” Greg pleaded, unable to think of any more logical reasons to rebut Mycroft’s self-depreciation. He ran his fingers gently through Mycroft’s hair, knowing it soothed his husband at other times. 

“I feel like I have almost lost him more than a normal big brother should.” Mycroft stated, staring at the ceiling. Greg had to agree.   
“Well, neither of you are normal.” Greg commented, and Mycroft smiled in response.    


“So what happens now? You said the government wants him back on the case, so does that mean they’re willing to give him a reduced sentence?” Greg asked, hoping to focus Mycroft’s thoughts.   
“No. I believe that at this point, they will accept complete misconstruction of the truth to exonerate Sherlock of any consequences.” Mycroft stated, looking up at Gregory’s confused face. “That is to say, they will allow blame for the murder to be placed elsewhere. Sherlock will not be required to serve time for killing Magnussen, as officially… he will not have done so.”   
“That’s…” Greg started, unable to formulate words to reflect his complicated feelings.   
“Gregory dear, I know that as a policeman, you are against people not facing the consequences of their actions. However this is a different situation, and I know that for this to work out as required, Sherlock needs to not be pardoned for the action — he needs to have not have committed it at all.”  
“But… if you can do that, like legitimately circumvent the law like that… why didn’t you before?”

Mycroft frowned at Gregory, and sat up.   
“I would not do so merely because I care for Sherlock. There are laws in place for a reason, and my brother must adhere to them. I mean that in this instance, the country will likely be safer with Sherlock on the case… and that is a reason worth such extreme measures. Nothing less would give the council reason to approve such action.”   
“I’m sorry, love, I didn’t mean it like that…” Greg said in frustration. He sighed. 

“Look, it’s been a long day, for both of us, but mostly you. I think it’s best to just leave it be for now. Just have some dinner, cuddle up to me, and have an early night. You can cry, you can scream, you can curl up in a ball all you want. But now’s not the time to try work through it logically. Ok?” Greg offered with a concerned look. 

Mycroft nodded, admiring the care and wisdom his husband displayed. He leant in and kissed him deeply. He felt comforted that even when everything in his life is thrown in the air and lands in a mess, Gregory will still be there for him.   
“Gregory…despite everything… I’m glad he’s back.”  
“Me too, love. Me too.”


	13. Uncles

“You’re still coming to the Christening, right?” John asked, putting some baby toys away.   
“Uh, yeah, I guess… if you want us to. But I don’t understand why, I mean… I’m not a godparent, now, am I?” Greg responded, and John noticed the small tang of hurt in his voice.   
“Yeah, well, Sherlock’s a godparent.” John said with a smile, standing and looking directly at Greg. They were both standing in John’s living room. Greg suddenly understood: Sherlock was a godparent, which made Greg and Mycroft Rosie’s uncles. Greg couldn’t be both a godparent and an uncle. He smiled and nodded, and John knew he’d finally understood.   
“Uncle Greg, eh?” John laughed.   
“Oi, don’t laugh, I’m a brilliant uncle.” Greg responded, feigning indignant.   
“I’m sure you are. Well, it’s tomorrow, anyway. Don’t be late.” 

Mycroft had been rather insistent that he didn’t need to be present. He tried hard to get out of it, but Greg had demanded that as the child’s uncle, he should be there. Mycroft had snapped about not being a real uncle until Sherlock marries John, but had quickly backed down at his husband’s growl. Greg only reserved that for when he really wanted to get his way. 

And so that found Mycroft hovering in the corner of the church, watching the proceedings from afar. Greg had complained, but Mycroft reminded him that he had only asked him to attend, not to be close. Greg sighed to himself, and tried to enjoy the moment. At least Mycroft _had_ come. 

After John and Mary had walked Rosie out of the building, Mycroft returned to Greg’s side. He scolded Sherlock for ignoring the Moriarty case, but Sherlock still insisted that he was waiting. That keeping busy with cases was his way of keeping an eye on ‘the web’. Before Mycroft could protest, Sherlock had trotted out to catch up with John and Mary. 

“So, was it as terrible as you feared?” Greg asked humorously as they strolled out of the church.   
“No, as I was not forced to be up close to it all. Thank you.” Mycroft conceded.   
“I don’t know why, she’s adorable.” Greg said, fondness radiating out of him. Mycroft noticed and raised his eyebrow.   
“You’ve already become quite attached to the infant, Gregory.”  
“Baby, Myc. Not ‘infant’. We can call her Rosie now. And yes, I have. How could anyone not?”  
“Quite easily I imagine…” Mycroft muttered. 

They climbed into the car together. Greg could tell that Mycroft was not particularly fond of children, or babies at least. It made him wonder why, and wonder how the man could consider having a family with him if babies seemingly repulsed him.   
“Is it a gay thing?” Greg asked suddenly.   
“I…I beg your pardon?” Mycroft responded in shock.   
“Babies. Do you dislike them because they remind you of the … area … from which they came?” Greg asked, keeping his face dead-panned.  
“Where on Earth did you get that idea?” Mycroft spluttered, his face going red.   
“Ah so that _is_ part of it.”   
“I do not like to suddenly have that image thrust into my mind, Gregory!”   
“Relax, you’re not the first gay guy I’ve met that had an issue with babies because it reminded them of vaginas.” Greg said as casually as he could, but Mycroft’s face was making it difficult not to laugh. “Usually the problem rights itself once the baby turns about six months old, so I doubt you’d have difficulty for long.” Greg continued.   
“Gregory, I am not afraid of…”  
“Ha, you can’t even say it. Though that could be the poshness of you. Look all I’m saying is that you can acclimatise yourself to babies, and they’ll grow out of that appearance soon enough.”   
“Why are you talking about this?” Mycroft asked through clenched teeth.   
“Just… thinking about your comment about having a family with me, and comparing it to your obvious dislike of babies.” 

Realisation dawned on Mycroft, and he nodded his head.   
“I’m sorry.” Mycroft muttered.   
“Hey, relax, love. I wasn’t being serious enough to get hurt by anything. I would have phrased it differently otherwise. If we were to talk seriously about having children, it would go a lot differently. I mean, I still have my inbuilt fear of becoming my father to them to address as well. I was just a bit curious as to why you didn’t like them.”  
“It… it mostly has to do with infants being so needy, dependant, and fragile. I don’t understand humans innately like many people do; I have had to put a lot of effort into working them out, and babies have always been a part of the human condition that has eluded me. They unnerve me for those reasons.” Mycroft spilled, his eyes darting across to his husband occasionally. 

They rode in silence for a time longer, before Mycroft broke it whilst still staring out the window.   
“Rosamund does seem to make people happy.”   
“Babies do that. Sure, being a parent is supposed to be hard, and tire the parents out to no end… but the love and happiness from that child makes it all worth it.” Greg said warmly, reaching over to hold Mycroft’s hand.   
“You make me happy.” Mycroft said, turning to look Gregory in the eyes.   
“I hope you’re not implying that I tire you out.” Greg quipped.   
“You do sometimes. In fact, I expect you shall do so tonight.” Mycroft responded slyly. 

~

Mycroft had organised a dinner date for himself and Gregory. Since getting married, they’d not gone out on ‘dates’ as much as they used to, but Mycroft was finding he missed the activity. He waited at the foot of the stairs for Gregory to finish dressing. Mycroft had chosen an upper class place this time, and so Gregory would have to wear a suit. Mycroft admitted he _may_ have selected the restaurant solely for the purpose of seeing his husband in the appropriate attire. 

“Myc, you don’t have to wait for me at the foot of the stairs like that. You make me feel like I’m a teenager going to a ball or dinner or something.”  
“Well, we are going to dinner.” Mycroft responded, not hiding his delight at seeing his husband in a lovely and tight blue suit. Greg had tried to reject Mycroft’s offers of a tailored suit; but since the wedding, after having experienced the difference, he’d finally relented. Mycroft was thrilled with the result. He stuck his arm out for Gregory to take, and he did so with a roll of the eyes and a laugh. 

They sat in the back of restaurant, allowing them to have more private conversations. Greg was grateful, as they’d not had a lot of time to just talk with each other the past couple of weeks. Work had kept them both fairly busy, and they were both just exhausted by the time either of them got home. Usually the routine was eat, clean, cuddle in bed, sleep. It was indeed nice to have a night out, even if work was still stressful. 

“So, I ended up going to Sherlock about the Welsborough case.” Greg said, sipping his red wine.   
“Oh? And how did he take it?”  
“He was rather excited. I’ll admit, it had me stumped from the moment I got it.”  
“Interesting, then.” Mycroft said, but Greg knew him well enough to know that was his fake voice.   
“Love, you don’t have to do that with me. Pretending to be interested. I know Sherlock and his cases have been a difficulty for you at work for a while now, and you’re not wanting to hear more about it on our night off. I get it. You can just tell me, you know.” Greg said seriously, but making sure he didn’t sound offended.   
“I’m sorry. I do really want to be interested in your life, my darling, but you are correct. My brother has been proving a nightmare at work lately.”  
“That’s ok. Something a bit funnier then: Sherlock is still doing that distancing thing with me around John. It’s getting worse now, he’s even involving John in it, asked him for my name. Oh, and then John and I started joking about him being a baby and he didn’t understand the implications.” Greg said with a grin. Mycroft chuckled.   
“Yeah, that’s him. But please, my dear, do tell me more about the case. I assure you, I am interested.” Mycroft said, sipping his own glass of wine. 

“Well, the case itself was fairly interesting: a boy found dead in his car parked out the front of his parents’ house while he was supposed to be in Tibet, and forensics say he’d been dead there for a week. Turns out he’d disguised himself to look like the front seat and died in the costume so no one found him until the other car came and smashed into him… but anyway. Although, I will say… Sherlock was acting all weird about a smashed bust of Margret Thatcher.”  
“Coincidentally, Sherlock came to me in my office just before asking about her. I agree that he was acting strangely. I worry about him remembering…”  
“Remembering?”  
“Yes, sorry… I shouldn’t have said, I can’t talk about it. But just that there’s something he’s forgotten that will cause problems should he remember. I worry that might be happening.”  
“Oh… well… I’m sure it’ll work out. Since I know already that you can’t tell me any more about your job than you’ve already told me, how about we call this the end of chatting about our work lives?”  
“Sounds perfectly agreeable to me, my dear. What do you wish to discuss instead?”

Greg didn’t answer straight away, as the waiter came and delivered their meals. Greg had a chicken kiev with vegetables, and Mycroft a salad. Greg bit his tongue at his husband’s choice of meal, knowing that he tended to eat less while stressed. He didn’t want to bring up issues about it while they were supposed to be having a good night out.   
“John and Mary seemed to be coping alright with parenthood.” Greg said, cutting into his chicken.   
“I have seen. Sherlock showed me a photo of the baby while he was in my office. It seems you all are trying to get me more involved. Is it a coordinated effort?” Mycroft asked, amused, as he inspected his salad.   
“Oh no, you have caught me red handed.” Greg joked, and Mycroft just shook his head with a smile.   
“I will interact with Rosamund at a time of my choosing, and not before… as her uncle, I believe I have that right.” Mycroft said firmly.   
“Alright. Fair enough.” Greg said, conceding purely because Mycroft agreed to being the girl’s uncle, and ignoring the wincing noises Mycroft made from him talking with a mouthful of chicken. 

“So, your birthday is coming up. Have any idea what you’d like to do for it?”  
“Curl up and sleep it off?” Mycroft mumbled to himself.   
“What? Why?”  
“I see no point in celebrating the fact that I have survived another complete year since my birth.”  
“On the contrary, I see it as very important. Especially considering everything we’ve been through. Surviving through it is actually a very good reason to celebrate it. I know last year you had to be away for work… although in hindsight, I’m beginning to think that was arranged on purpose.” Greg stated.   
“You may have a point, my dear, but that does not change the fact that I do not enjoy being reminded I am older.”  
“Why? You look as hot as ever, so really… you’ve only just gained more knowledge, and I thought you liked that?” Greg said with a grin. He was thrilled to see Mycroft blush at his words.   
“Gregory.” Mycroft said, not really sure what he meant by it.   
“Alright, alright… we’ll just, I dunno, watch a movie or something.” Greg grumbled, but was already formulating a plan to force Mycroft to do something special. He’d need Anthea’s help for it. He didn’t mention it again for the remainder of the evening, but still had a mischievous gleam in his eye.


	14. Secret Lunch Meeting

Greg had managed to organise a meeting with Anthea without Mycroft’s knowledge. It was a lunch meeting, so that both of them could pretend to have been seeing someone else should they be questioned. Greg wasn’t really sure why he had to spill formaldehyde over his shirt sleeve, but Anthea had dropped by before heading in to work and instructed him to do so before their meeting. She’d told him that his excuse was to be meeting with a forensics officer regarding a case over lunch, and she had written in her calendar that she was on a date. Greg was secretly glad at her attention to detail… it was evident that she was very good at her job, even if Greg wasn’t sure exactly what that job was. It seemed to be anything Mycroft requested, including ‘run the country while I’m out’. 

Another bust of Margret Thatcher had been found broken, and Greg knew that he should bring it before Sherlock. He was surprised that it actually had been a thing, and not just Sherlock being weird. He took the evidence bag with him as he left the Yard, deciding to drop by to see his brother-in-law before meeting with Anthea. 

Greg found it awkward to make conversation with Stella. He wondered if that was how Mycroft felt so often. Sherlock snapped at them for talking, but Greg found that just standing there in silence waiting was even more awkward. Thankfully, Sherlock didn’t take too long. Stella was dismissed fairly quickly, and then Greg presented the evidence bag to Sherlock with his outstretched arm. He was a little unsettled by Sherlock’s reaction, but dismissed it as Sherlock just focusing. Whatever Mycroft had been talking about Sherlock remembering didn’t seem to be happening regarding the busts. 

John talked a little about parenting, and offered for him and Mycroft to come around some time. Sherlock smirked as he seated himself at the table before the microscope.   
“What?” John asked, as if Sherlock had offended his child.   
“Nothing. Just … Mycroft, and babies.”   
Greg rolled his eyes and nodded, but John just looked confused.   
“They scare him.” Sherlock stated happily, pulling out a piece of the bust from the evidence bag.   
“Yeah, let’s maybe not talk about this, Sherlock.” Greg said with a hint of warning in his voice.   
“Fine.” Sherlock grumbled, and busied himself looking at the shard.   
“We’ll come ‘round at some point, John, but it’s going to take Mycroft a bit to get used to the idea.” Greg said quietly. John just nodded, willing to give up the conversation. 

Sherlock talked a bit about the case more, and Greg hoped that he wouldn’t take too long. He checked his watch… he was already going to possibly be late to meet Anthea. Greg had assumed he could just drop the bust off and leave. Suddenly, out of nowhere, Sherlock said Greg had a lunch date. With a brunette forensics officer.   
_Well, at least Anthea can fool Sherlock._

“Who told you?” Greg asked, not wanting to give away his secret plans. Sherlock quickly prattled off his deductions, all of which Anthea had placed seemingly for him to find (minus the glances he’d done to his watch, and that was just because he was legitimately pressed for time).   
“Have a good time.” Sherlock stated, not really interested.   
“I will.” Greg said, not sure if he should be unsettled that Sherlock thinks it perfectly fine for him to have a lunch date with a woman while married to his brother… or if Sherlock knew it was all a ruse.   
“Trust me, though, she’s not right for you.” Sherlock muttered. Greg stopped in the doorway and smiled. Yep, Sherlock knew it was faked.   
_Damn. At least he’s not going to tell anyone.  
_ “What?” He asked, just like he had all those years ago.   
“She’s not the one.” Sherlock said louder. Greg knew John probably had no idea what they were talking about… they were referencing something that happened years before he came along.   
“Well, thank you, Mystic Meg.” Greg responded, trying not to giggle at the name. Last time Sherlock had shouted at him for calling him ‘Meg’, and so Greg decided to flee quickly. 

Sherlock flashed a smile Greg’s way, before continuing to focus on his phone.   
“How’d you work all that out?” John asked him, and Sherlock realised that John must think that Greg was cheating on Mycroft.   
_Probably best to explain, then. Or, make it ridiculous._

“She’s got three children in Rio that he doesn’t know about.” Sherlock stated.   
“Are you just making this up?” John asked, getting the hint.   
“Possibly.” Sherlock said with a grin.   
“Who’s Toby?” John asked as they left the flat.   
“You… you aren’t going to ask me about Greg’s date?” Sherlock asked with a flick of his eyebrow.  
“No, because you just told me you were making it all up. I know he wouldn’t cheat on Mycroft.”  
“Indeed. He does have a lunch date planned, but it’s with Anthea - despite his attempts to hide it. No doubt trying to organise something for my dear brother’s birthday.”  
“So why bother telling him ‘she’s not the one?’”   
“A reference to something that happened in the past.”  
“So it’s just some game you two are playing again.” John grumbled exasperatedly as Sherlock hailed a taxi. 

“Oh, do relax John, we’re not purposefully excluding you. It was a few years ago, on a case. I’d already told him about his wife cheating on him, but he wouldn’t get a divorce from her for some reason. He told me that no one else would want him, and I’d said that I knew of at least one person who did.”  
“Mycroft?” John asked.  
“Exactly. But I didn’t tell him that at the time. He seemed to think I was lying, and then next thing we know, one of the new recruits starts hitting on him. He turned to me and said that I shouldn’t set him up like that because he was still married. I denied it, saying she wasn’t whom I meant, but I could see him thinking. I told him, ‘trust me, she’s not right for you.’ He was confused, and I just said that she wasn’t the one I meant. And that neither was his wife. He got a bit annoyed, and shouted ‘well thank you, Mystic Meg’ at me… and I may have, er, shouted back.”   
“In other words, you insulted him.”  
“Possibly. But I was right, his wife was everything I said she was. And that he’s happier without her.” 

John groaned.   
“Oh Sherlock. The Queen of Tact, you are. At least you kept Mycroft’s feelings secret long enough for them to be happy finding each other.” 

~

“Hey, Anthea… sorry I’m late, I was dropping some stuff off with Sherlock.”  
“I knew you would be. Did he assume you were having a lunch meeting with a forensics officer?”  
“Um, date, actually. But I think he knew it was faked. He wouldn’t be that ok with me dating someone on the side. Besides, he smiled when I called him Mystic Meg…”  
“Right… ok. Point is, he’s not going to tell Mycroft you’re meeting me. Now, what were you wanting to do for his birthday?” Anthea interrupted, brushing over what Greg had been talking about like it was irrelevant. 

“I know he hates gatherings of people in any form, so having a secret surprise party is out of the question. I was thinking of maybe him having the day off, so I could take him to dinner.”  
“He doesn’t need a whole day off just to have dinner with you.” Anthea said, raising her eyebrow.   
“Well, I was going to make a day of it. Like, breakfast in bed…”  
“Other things in bed…” Anthea mumbled, and Greg’s eyes blew wide in surprise. He had not expected Anthea to be less than professional.   
“Um…yeah. But that’s kinda between me and Mycroft.” Greg said uncomfortably.   
“Relax, Detective. I was just having a bit of fun. I’m glad Mycroft finally has someone, he’s been sad and lonely for so long.” 

Greg didn’t say anything in response. They sat in silence for a while, looking at their menus. After ordering, Anthea started talking again.   
“I believe I could get him the day off, however it would be difficult to do so and have it remain a surprise.”   
“Can’t you just fill his schedule with fake meetings?”   
“You… you have met your husband, right?” Anthea joked, and Greg understood. It would indeed be difficult to keep it secret.   
“I have confidence in you. I mean, the thing with the formaldehyde today… I’m sure you can manage it.” 

Anthea gave him a wry smile.   
“I agree,” She spoke, “But I’ll have to fill his time up progressively. I won’t be able to confirm that he has the whole time off until a few days beforehand. Will that be enough notice for you?”  
“Mhm, yep.” Greg agreed as their food was delivered.   
“So, what else do you have planned?”  
“Well,” Greg said, taking a bite, “I would like to make a little treasure hunt for him. But, as you know, making clues hard enough for him not to work it all out in an instant would be challenging, and beyond me.”  
“Perhaps it’s worth including Sherlock?” Anthea suggested.   
“Wouldn’t he ruin it?”  
“You know him better than I.” Anthea shrugged. 

Greg nodded. They ate in relative silence after that. Anthea decided that the majority of her involvement would be to get Mycroft secretly free of work for his birthday, and that Greg could do as he pleased with the rest.   
“Oh, wait… I have a brilliant idea.” Greg suddenly said as the waiter cleared their table.   
“Hm?”  
“The fake appointments… we could make them _real_ fake appointments.”  
“I…I’m not following.” Anthea said, confused.  
“Have people pretend to be meeting him for one reason or another, but they give him clues instead to work out the puzzle.”  
“I think you’re getting too excited to fool your husband, Greg. I can’t get the people that Mycroft would be seeing to agree to that.”  
“No, make up fake people.”  
“Again… have you met Mycroft? He’ll know, and likely _not_ assume it’s for a birthday surprise.” Anthea reminded him, but Greg was already planning what he could do.   
“Have him go to empty rooms then, where he’ll find a card that is meaningless without the other pieces of the puzzle. I’ll get Sherlock to help, since I’d never be able to do it on my own. And then he can work out where to find me.”   
“So you want _you_ to be his prize?” Anthea asked suggestively. Greg blushed slightly.   
“Yeah.”  
“Going to jump out of a cake as well?” Anthea teased. It could have been interpreted as mean, but Greg was too focused on what Mycroft’s reaction might be to the combination of himself covered in (nothing but) cake. 


	15. Collapse

Mycroft was on the couch in the living room, flicking through some files, listening to some gentle music. Greg sat at the table in the corner, fiddling with a model motorbike that he was constructing. They’d both managed to get back from work early enough to do some leisure activities before needing to turn in for the night. Greg had argued that looking at files was not ‘leisure’, but Mycroft had insisted. Greg shook his head, but relented so long as Mycroft remained relaxed. 

Greg really wasn’t all that great at building the model, but he enjoyed it all the same. He’d glued pieces to his fingers three times thus far. Luckily he (Mycroft) was able to detach them and get the glue off with a solvent. 

“Is work really so busy that you need to look at it at all hours of the day?” Greg asked Mycroft without taking his eyes off the model.   
“It really is busy, my dear. However this is just casual information for it, nothing pressing.”  
“Well, that’s good at least. Are they still on your case about Moriarty?”  
“Unfortunately. As well as tracking down the black pearl of the Borgias.” Mycroft sighed, closing the file and leaving it rest on the side table. He had been trying to locate the source of Moriarty’s video message, but it had been so cleverly hidden that he was getting concerned. Greg looked up at him.   
“DI Hopkins had brought that file to Sherlock when I brought the second smashed Thatcher bust.” 

Mycroft raised his eyebrow at Gregory.   
“Don’t worry, love. Besides, Sherlock shut the door on her face and she left without a word to me.”   
Mycroft seemed content with that.   
“Sherlock had a similar reaction to my asking him to find it.”  
“You asked him?”  
“Yes. I believe his exact words were: ‘it’s a pearl, get another one.’” 

Greg chuckled and continued to focus on his model.   
“This Thatcher bust thing turned out to be a big deal. Yesterday, someone was actually murdered over it. Sherlock didn’t bother telling me who’d killed Harker, but instead ran off to catch the guy in the act of smashing the next.”   
“Seems to be important to someone.” Mycroft said, standing up to get himself a drink. He asked if Gregory wanted anything, but he declined.   
“Yeah. The bloke ran off even though the police had the place surrounded.” Greg said, louder so that Mycroft could hear him from the other room.   
“Are you advertising the Yard’s incompetence as well now?” Mycroft quipped, and walked back into the room holding a glass of wine.   
“Oi, no. Sherlock said the guy used to work with Mary, so he’s got a skill set a bit beyond most coppers.” Greg playfully snapped back to Mycroft. 

Mycroft’s froze when he heard those words. Adrenaline surged through his body and his heart pounded in his chest. He dropped the glass, which broke despite the carpet. Greg snapped his attention up to his husband at the noise, and saw Mycroft’s pale, sweaty face.   
“Myc, what is it?” Greg asked, leaping to his feet.   
Mycroft didn’t respond. His hand was still outstretched from where he’d been holding the glass, but it was now shaking. Greg was careful not to stand on any glass shards as he grabbed his husband by the arms and steered him to the couch.   
“Mycroft, talk to me.” 

Thoughts ran through Mycroft’s mind. He didn’t even hear his husband’s words to him. Why, _why_ , was Georgia coming up still? _Another_ member of AGRA survived? He ran through his head the events of the past when he worked the Tbilisi incident, and he suddenly realised that the reports of a surviving member weren’t about Mary at all. They were about this man. Mycroft had found Mary in a hidden passageway that no one knew about - therefore, how could there have been reports that she’d survived? He’d gone in and gotten the wrong member. He’d failed in realising that there was another that survived, no doubt captured and tortured. Tortured for years now…because of him.  
_When will the pain and guilt from that incident end?_

Greg was trying to get Mycroft to respond to him, but nothing was working. He wasn’t breathing properly, but Greg didn’t know how to help him do so if he wasn’t going to listen to him.   
“MYCROFT!” Greg shouted, shaking him fairly roughly. 

Mycroft was feeling light headed, and noticed the world was starting to spin and fade. He was vaguely aware of Gregory in front of him, shouting, but in his panic he couldn’t hear him. He could only hear the thumping of his heart. The images of the past were clouding his vision. The downside of having a memory like his: it was very vivid, and could overwhelm him at times. Greg was panicking as well, particularly once he started to see Mycroft’s eyes lull. He guided his husband to lay on the couch as he lost consciousness. Greg moved to lift his feet over the end of the couch so that they were above his head, and waited with baited breath. 

He pulled out his phone and called John.   
“John! I need help.” Greg snapped in a panic into the receiver.   
“Greg? What’s happened?”  
“Mycroft’s passed out. He had a panic attack and went all distant, and then just collapsed. What do I do?” Greg said in a rush.   
“Oh…er… make sure his feet are above his head, usually that’s enough to get the oxygen back to the brain to regain consciousness.”   
“Yeah, I’ve done that already, but he’s still out.”  
“Is he responsive?” 

Greg looked at his husband carefully. He called his name, but Mycroft didn’t respond.   
“No.”   
“Greg, I meant can you rouse him, not just if he will answer you. Gently shake his shoulder.”  
Greg did so, and to his relief Mycroft stirred. He let out the breath he’d been holding.   
“Yeah, yeah he’s moving now.”  
“It might take a moment for him to wake.”  
“Do I need to take him to the hospital?”  
“If you’re worried, then you could, and get someone to just look him over. If he’s back to his normal self within say 10 minutes, then I’d say there wasn’t much need to. I would recommend he see a doctor soon, however. Having a panic attack severe enough to cause syncope is cause for concern. He probably should be prescribed some benzodiazapines.”   
“Huh?” Greg asked.   
“He passed out, so should take valium or similar in future.” John said, forgetting that Greg didn’t know a lot of medical terms.   
“Oh, ok. Thanks so much for this John. I’ll call you if something more happens.” Greg said, noticing Mycroft’s eyes blinking awake at him.   
“Any time. Oh and probably give him something sweet to eat or drink, he’ll likely feel a bit weak when he wakes fully.” John said cheerfully, and hung up. 

“Mycroft? Can you hear me?”  
Mycroft nodded and groaned. He looked about, confused.   
“You had a panic attack and then fainted on me. I had to call John.”   
Mycroft didn’t say anything, but his cheeks flushed in embarrassment and he made to sit up. Greg pressed his hand to Mycroft’s chest, stopping him.   
“No, don’t be embarrassed love. And I want you to just lie there a bit longer, ok?” 

Mycroft relented and laid on the couch, looking into his husband’s concerned eyes.   
“I’m sorry,” He mumbled, “I didn’t mean to worry you.”  
“Of course you didn’t mean to, Sunshine, but I worry all the same.” Greg said with a smile. Mycroft flicked his eyebrow up at the term of endearment.   
“That should be your nickname, not mine.”   
“Too late, I’ve claimed it,” Greg giggled, “And I don’t see you being able to actually call me that.”   
“Touché.” Mycroft stated. He did rather like it, so long as it wasn’t used often or around others.

“So, what did John say?” Mycroft grumbled.   
“He said that you should go to see a doctor about this, and soon. Get prescribed benzolida..de…pezine…” Greg said, struggling to remember the word.   
“Benzodiazepines, yes.” Mycroft finished for him.   
“Yeah, that. Which, by the way, I’m all for. I honestly think you should have done so sooner.”   
“Generally, being prescribed them is conditional on attendance for therapy to reduce the cause of the anxiety. I have not agreed to such.” Mycroft stated firmly.   
“Well I think you’ve just made it clear you need it.” Greg responded, equally firmly. 

Mycroft sighed. He didn’t feel up to arguing with his husband, he just felt rather weak. Greg noticed, and stood up.  
“Wait here, I’ll get you something to drink.” 

Greg returned with some iced tea he had in the fridge. It was certainly sweet enough. He handed it out to Mycroft, whom accepted it without opposition.   
“Are you going to tell me what happened?”  
“It…the… you said that the man who broke the busts worked with Mary. That means he was left behind in Tbilisi during the Georgia incident. As it flashed before my eyes, I realised that the reports of a surviving AGRA member were actually him, since I found Mary in a secret passage no one knew about. Gregory, this failure won’t stop haunting me…” Mycroft explained. Greg allowed him to sit up, and held him close. 

“We’ll work it out… Sunshine.” Greg said, grinning.   
“Please use that term sparingly, and privately.” Mycroft said, but held onto his husband tighter.   
“Whatever you say, love. And don’t think I won’t call Anthea to find out if you’ve actually gone to the doctor.” 


	16. Practice

It was Friday evening. Greg was glad to be home for the weekend, after a long week of work. He knew Mycroft would still be a few hours at least, and so Greg thought he’d get a start on dinner after he just laid on the couch for a while. He hadn’t had a chance to talk to Sherlock about making a puzzle for Mycroft’s birthday, but he was still a little unsure if he wanted to include him. Not because Greg thought he could manage it on his own, but because he didn’t trust Sherlock not to just spoil the secret. 

He closed his eyes and tried to imagine how clues were left on some of his favourite television shows, and thought about perhaps just copying one of those if he could. But he didn’t want to make Mycroft run off to Egypt by accident or something. Then he heard the doorbell. He groaned as he sat up and walked to answer the door. 

He was met by John, Sherlock, and Rosie.   
“Hi, come in.” Greg said, stepping out of the way to let the three in. He noticed that John had a large bag with him.   
“Hey, Greg. Sorry to just drop by like this…” John said.   
“Not at all, you’re always welcome. Would you like some tea?” Greg offered, wondering if they’d come to talk.   
“We don’t have time.” Sherlock stated bluntly, and John sighed.   
“He’s right. We’ve come here to horrendously impose upon you and ask you to watch Rosie for a while.” John said, indicating to the baby strapped to his body. 

“Oh, um, sure. I don’t have any plans this weekend.” Greg said, a little uncertain. Not because he didn’t want to mind Rosie, but he wasn’t sure how Mycroft would take it.   
“Thanks, Greg. Really.” John said, sliding the bag off his shoulder and onto the kitchen floor.   
“So, what’s this all about?” Greg asked, noticing how tense the pair were.   
“Mary’s gone into hiding to try keep us safe, and so now we have to go and bring her home.”  
“…Oh.” Was all Greg managed to say.   
“We don’t know how long we’ll be, so I can’t give you an estimate as to how long you’ll have to keep and eye on her. I’m sorry.” John said with a pained expression. Greg just smiled and waved his hand at him.   
“Nah, it’s no trouble, mate. Rosie’s gonna have a great time with her Uncle Greg, isn’t she?” Greg cooed to the baby, wiggling his fingers in her face.   
“I would have asked Molly, but she’s out of town this weekend…”  
“Oi, I said it was fine, don’t worry. I’m good with kids, if that’s what you’re worried about…”  
“Shit, no, I just … never mind. We do actually have to get going, we have a plane to catch. So um, yeah, you just take her,” John said while lifting the baby into Greg’s arms, “And we’ll be back as soon as possible. There’s a few notes in the bag in case you get stuck with anything.”

Greg stood with Rosie against his chest. He loved the feeling, but he couldn’t help but frown.   
“What is it?” Sherlock asked, noticing.   
“Oh… just, I worry how Mycroft will take it.” Greg mused.   
“He’ll get used to it. Tell him it’s just practice for when you two are parents.” John said, unclipping the baby carrier from his body and putting it on the bag resting upon the floor. 

Sherlock noticed Greg’s body tensed at John’s words, but said nothing. He hoped Mycroft would at least be able to tolerate his goddaughter.   
“Oh, Sherlock…since you have a plane ride ahead of you to think about this, I wanted your help with something. I want to plan like a treasure hunt for Mycroft’s birthday. Anthea has fake meetings planned to keep him free, and I want to leave clues at those meetings. I just don’t know how to make it a challenge.”  
“Lestrade, believe me, you’d be best off just writing ‘I tried’ on a card for him. I am to Mycroft what you lot are to me… it would take a great deal of effort to even come close to fooling him on my part, and so you don’t stand a chance.”  
“Sherlock, be nice.” John warned.   
“I’m serious, John. Look, he’ll appreciate anything you do; just don’t have a clown, and you’re good. Mycroft’s always been terrified of them.”  
“Seriously?” Greg laughed. Sherlock smirked.   
“Yes. The sad ones in particular.”  
“I won’t ask how you found that out, I might get the inclination to punch you.” Greg stated, and John giggled.   
“Yes, well…we should be going.” Sherlock said, his body stiff. They bid their farewells, and then Greg was alone in the house with Rosie. Greg stroked her back as she garbled noise, relishing the feeling of the warmth from her tiny form radiating into his chest. 

“Why don’t we go cuddle in the living room, hey little one? I’ll see if your daddy packed you any toys to play with.” Greg sung to the baby, picking up the bag and walking into the living room. The bag had a few toys in it, a couple of soft blankets, a bottle, some formula, and a lot of nappies. Greg held onto Rosie close, careful to keep a hold of her head, as he unfurled one of the soft blankets to lay on the floor. He then knelt down and placed her upon the blanket. She gazed up at him with large, shining eyes, and Greg felt his heart melt. He tickled her tummy as he pulled out a stuffed polar bear to give to her.

Rosie was content to stay laying on the floor for a while as Greg read the instructions John had written; mostly about when to feed and how to do it, and what to do when she cried. He also read the instructions on the formula tin. It didn’t seem too complicated. Rosie then decided that she really wanted to be held, and screamed until Greg picked her up. He rocked her gently until she stopped crying, and then sat on the couch with her laying on top of him. 

“Gregory…what have you done?” Mycroft’s voice resounded.   
“Oh, hey love.” Greg said, surprised that he didn’t hear Mycroft come in.   
“Please tell me that is John’s child.” Mycroft said with concern. Greg chuckled softly, his hand over Rosie’s back.   
“Yeah, don’t worry, Myc. I didn’t decide to go adopt a baby while you were at work.”   
“Why is she here?”  
“John and Sherlock had to go chase down Mary and bring her back to England, so we’re watching her until they all get back.” Greg said. 

Mycroft already felt overwhelmed just having the infant so close, and so didn’t bother asking follow up questions. But the warm smile Gregory gave him softened his resolve to pawn the child off to someone else.   
“Are you sure Ms Hooper is unavailable?”  
“Yes, she’s away. Besides, I want to look after her.” Greg stated, letting his husband know that there was no getting out of it.   
“Very well.” Mycroft said hesitantly, still unmoving from the entranceway.   
“Well, come say hello.” 

Mycroft walked in closer and stood stiffly before Greg and the baby.  
“Hello, Rosie.” He said formally, and Greg just laughed at him.   
“Come sit beside me, love. She’ll get to see you then.”  
“I hardly think it matters at that age…”  
“Mycroft, sit.” Greg ordered, and his partner obliged. 

Greg shifted the baby so that she could see Mycroft sitting beside him. Rosie looked at Mycroft, and Mycroft stared back… as if both were trying to make out what the other was. Tentatively, Mycroft reached a hand towards her. Rosie saw the outstretched fingers, and grasped her hand around one of them. Greg beamed when he saw his husband’s expression change from shock to affection at seeing the tiny hand gripped around his finger. Mycroft smiled.  
“She is… not as bad as I expected.” Mycroft murmured.   
“That’s high praise from you,” Greg joked, “Would you like to hold her?”  
“I think perhaps not. Not for the moment, at least. I’m assuming that means you wish for me to cook dinner tonight?”  
“If you don’t mind. She can stay on the floor for a while on her blanket there, but one of us needs to be in the room with her. So you can either stay in here and keep and eye on her, or cook. Up to you.”

Greg was happy that Mycroft genuinely looked like he was considering the options. He elected to cook, as expected, but the fact that he wasn’t utterly repulsed from the start made Greg joyous. He even offered to prepare the formula for Rosie, but reminded Greg that he’d have to be the one to do the feeding. Greg accepted the task more than willingly. Mycroft cooked ravioli, and Greg wondered if he’d done so on purpose so that Greg could sit at the table and hold Rosie in one arm and eat with the other. 

As expected, Mycroft had to work on the weekend, leaving him with Rosie on his own. If Mycroft hadn’t been spending the past few weekends at work, Greg would have assumed he was just trying to keep his distance from the baby. He knew that probably was some part of it, but Mycroft was genuinely busy. And he’d been a lot closer to Rosie than Greg had expected. Anthea had brought a cot over for her to sleep in, in their bedroom. Greg had caught Mycroft staring down at Rosie fondly as she slept, but had snuck away to leave him with his bonding moment. The combination of caring for the baby, and Mycroft’s quick warming to her, had made Greg’s longing for children resurface with vigour. 

Mycroft called Greg on Sunday morning from work, saying that Sherlock, John, and Mary were on their way home. Greg didn’t think that they’d be home so soon, but he was glad that he didn’t have to ‘call in sick’ to work on Monday. Mycroft also mentioned that he was suddenly in the middle of something important related to the Georgia incident. Greg found himself worried for him. 

Mary praised Greg on an excellent job of taking care of Rosie once they arrived to collect her, and Greg’s heart swelled. He’d told her that Rosie was no trouble, and he’d be happy to take care of her again any time - provided he wasn’t working. John was surprised to hear about Mycroft softening to her, and told Greg it was ‘good news’. Greg agreed, but was sure to tell them not to insinuate about he and Mycroft having children, as it was still a rather sensitive issue and he wanted to deal with it carefully himself. 


	17. Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Explicit scene in this chapter, and cannon character-death.

Mycroft shifted restlessly in bed. He thought that Gregory had fallen asleep hours ago, and so had been trying to remain fairly still. That was until he heard Gregory’s voice whisper out into the darkness.   
“Love, do you want to talk about it? You’ve been shuffling for hours.”   
“Forgive me, Gregory… I had believed you to be asleep.”

Greg sat up and turned the light on. Mycroft clasped his eyes shut at the light, even if it was only dull. He had his back turned to his husband, but he could feel him eyeing his form under the covers. He sighed and twisted around to face him. Gregory’s eyes looked concerned but also a little pained. 

“This isn’t about Rosie.” Mycroft stated, and Greg nodded softly. He had been worried that Mycroft’s unease was from not only having a baby around, but also becoming fond of her.   
“What is it about?”  
“Tbilisi.”   
“That’s the place in Georgia, right?” Greg asked, and Mycroft nodded sternly.   
“Sherlock called me before coming back, telling me that the code word, AMMO, was actually latin for ‘love’, not short for ammunition.”  
“Ok…” Greg said uncertainly, not understanding. Mycroft was used to his requests for more information, and so continued. He sat up to lean against the headboard beside his husband.   
“A colleague of mine, my former boss, whom handled the Georgia situation…her code name is Love. The message was that ‘ammo’ was a traitor, and had sabotaged the mission.”

“So… what happened all those years ago…” Greg started.  
“Might not have been my fault after all. All this time I’ve felt so much guilt over it… Gregory…I… I might be free of this burden after all.”  
“Myc, don’t get me wrong. I’m happy that this whole thing could be resolved for you and I definitely would love it if even _some_ of that burden you carry was eased. But I just don’t want you to jump to conclusions. You can’t deny that when you get particularly emotional, it clouds your judgement. That’s just what happens to us all, you know. And I know that’s why you have always had to put up your detached façade.”  
“I will not allow myself to get emotional about this.”  
“You’re already emotional about it, Sunshine. I’m just asking you to be aware of it. Take a moment to really process the information that you get. I trust you, and I’m here no matter what, alright?” Greg said, and leaned in to kiss Mycroft. 

Mycroft felt the knot in his gut loosen at the touch of his husband’s lips. Greg broke the kiss and smiled, seeing the tension fade from Mycroft’s shoulders. He leaned forward and kissed him again, deeper this time. Mycroft hummed in approval, and shuffled closer in the bed.   
“Well, seeing as we’re both up…?” Greg murmured, and Mycroft gave him a wry smile. 

Mycroft moved in and kissed Gregory again, running his hand up the length of his body to rest upon his chest. Greg’s body tingled, and he moaned softly into Mycroft’s mouth. He shifted to lay on his side, so that his body was pressed flush against Mycroft’s while they kissed. Greg broke the kiss, his breath hot and short on Mycroft’s face. He could feel his husband’s excitement pressing against his body, and knew that Mycroft could feel his own. Mycroft shifted further, so that he slid his body over the top of Gregory’s, propping his weight on his knees such that there was only the slightest touch of his cock on Gregory’s bulge. He kissed Gregory’s soft lips again, gently rolling his hips as he did so. Greg moaned at the contact, and ran his hands down his partner’s back to rest on his buttocks. 

“Mmmn, a bit desperate are we?” Mycroft hummed, and Greg nodded.

In response, Mycroft sat himself up and began to slide Greg’s briefs down, allowing his palm to rub down the shaft as he went. Greg breathed heavily, eyeing his husband greedily, and tried not to thrust up into his hand. He raised his hands up and cupped Mycroft’s crotch, and then used his thumb to slide the silk pyjama bottoms down along with the man’s underwear. They each took a moment to quickly rid themselves of their clothing, and then returned to their positions. Mycroft began to kiss Gregory deeply, grinding his hips against his husband’s crotch, enjoying the humming noises Gregory made in an attempt to moan from the contact. 

Greg broke the kiss and grasped Mycroft’s shoulders, thrusting upwards. Their cocks slid together, Mycroft’s breath catching in his throat.  
“Lube.” Greg breathed, and Mycroft blindly reached for the drawer and pulled out a bottle. He expertly covered them both, and then began to thrust up and down Gregory’s length again. Greg moaned at the feeling, clutching onto Mycroft’s body harder. Mycroft began to pant loudly into Greg’s ear, which only made Greg more desperate. 

It didn’t take long for Greg to feel himself getting close, and from the high-pitched grunts that Mycroft had started making, he could tell that his husband was not far behind.   
“Gregory…” Mycroft uttered.   
“Myc…” Greg responded, his body starting to tremble. Mycroft’s skin was slick with sweat, glistening in the gentle light. Greg had always thought he looked gorgeous when this far gone. Greg felt the constriction of his balls and the tension in his gut, and started to moan loudly. Moments later, he groaned as he spilled himself between their bellies, his cock throbbing and pulsing. Mycroft continued to thrust against him, clenching his teeth together. His body ached from exertion and need, and so when Gregory slipped a hand to grasp around Mycroft’s member to stroke it firmly, he came hard. He exhaled a quiet moan, his soft noises returning to his normal register. 

As they lay there beside each other, they entwined their fingers.   
“I love you, Myc.” Greg whispered.   
“I love you too, Gregory.” Mycroft breathed, still panting. 

~

Mycroft asked Sherlock to watch over his interrogation with Lady Smallwood. He wanted to be sure he wasn’t letting his emotions cloud his judgement like Gregory had said. Neither he nor Sherlock believed that Lady Smallwood was a traitor… she did not show any signs of hiding anything. Mycroft was secretly glad that Sherlock was there, since he wasn’t sure that he’d let himself believe it otherwise. 

Lady Smallwood was released from holding, but still watched under suspicion. Mycroft apologised to her for the inconvenience, in as detached and formal way as he could manage. He was fighting hard to keep the guilt over a false accusation against her at bay. 

Mycroft called Gregory for some support, and he suggested that Mycroft stop by his office. Under normal circumstances, he would have declined. But today was proving to be rather difficult, and so he relented and went to visit his husband. 

Greg warmly invited him in, and Mycroft sat down on the chair opposite Greg’s desk. They sat in silence for some time, until Greg couldn’t take it anymore.  
“You alright, love? You look… distracted.” Greg said over a file to Mycroft.   
“There’s something I’m missing.” Mycroft mused, his brows furrowed in thought.   
“Try not to think too hard, I’m sure it’ll come to you.” Greg said casually, returning to his case file. 

On cue, Mycroft’s phone buzzed. He pulled it out, and Greg saw his face drop when he read the message.   
“What is it?”  
“Sherlock’s worked out who the traitor is… it’s my colleagues’ PA… I have to go.” Mycroft stated, worried. Greg stood, and walked over to him before he could leave.   
“Hold on, do you want me to come with you?” Greg asked. Mycroft thought for a moment, and then nodded. Greg nodded in response, and grabbed his coat off the rack.   
“Wait… this person has committed treason or something, right?” Greg asked, pausing before the elevator.  
“Correct.”  
“Well, then I’m assuming they’re not going to just go with you willingly. And since treason is an offence, I can take a few sergeants with me.”  
“That might be wise, yes.” Mycroft said, and waited by the elevator as his husband organised to bring a small detail with them. 

En route to the aquarium, Greg received a phone call from John.  
“Hey, Greg…listen, can you do me a favour? Can you come with a squad car to the aquarium?”  
“I’m already on my way, mate.”  
“Oh, Sherlock text you too?”  
“Nah, Mycroft was with me in my office when he was texted. I thought it might be a good idea to tag along with a few officers.”  
“Thanks, Greg.”  
“So where are you headed?” Greg asked, wondering if there was a larger plan or someone else needing to be taken in as well.   
“London Aquarium.” John snapped. As if there could be anywhere else?  
“Now?”  
“Yes, now.” John said, clearly annoyed, and hung up. 

Greg sighed. Mycroft looked at him questioningly.   
“John’s clearly stressed. I just hope this all gets sorted quickly.”   
“As do I.” 

Mycroft hurried inside the building ahead of Greg, whom was giving instructions to his staff before entering. Greg then followed, closely behind Mycroft. He almost ran into him as he stopped before entering the room before him. Greg went to ask why they weren’t continuing, but Mycroft held his finger to his lips. Greg shut his mouth, and suddenly could hear Sherlock talking. Greg understood… enter once he’d finished.

Mycroft took the first steps, slinking into the room with his calm demeanour. Greg followed with his three officers, staying silent as Mycroft addressed the woman. He had a bad feeling about the situation… Sherlock, Mary, and a woman with a gun. Where was John? He’d been around the block enough times with Sherlock to know that inevitably, the culprit with the gun would try fire on the man. He had a habit of riling them up to get them to confess, but not realising that ‘I’ll do anything, and you’re pissing me off’ look they’d give him. But John was the only one that seemed to be able to get him to stop before it got dangerous. 

“Come on, be sensible.” Greg warned, but it was pointless. She really was going to do anything, and was intent on taking out Sherlock. Greg’s heart stopped as he heard the gunfire. 

Mycroft was frozen in shock as he saw the events fold out before him. Mary fell to the ground after pushing his little brother out of the way, suddenly covered in blood. He felt his stomach flip. John ran past him, and Sherlock shouted at him to call an ambulance. He ran. He didn’t need to leave the room to do so, but he couldn’t see the blood much longer. He couldn’t face the pain in John’s eyes. 

Greg remained in silent shock as Mycroft ran out, and as John frantically knelt by Mary’s side. His body shook. He didn’t care where his staff had gone with the culprit. He just stood, helpless, as he watched his family die before him. Mary, dying, and John’s soul dying along with her. Sherlock in utter shock, trying to keep it together for her last moments. Greg couldn’t breathe as he heard their last words together. Mycroft cautiously walked back in, and Greg could tell he was only doing so to be there for his family. He shot Gregory a concerned look, and Greg returned it. 

And then came the silence. The deafening silence. Ice water washed over Greg’s body as he heard John’s strangled cries. Mycroft looked like he wanted to flee but couldn’t. There was nothing any of them could do now… they were just frozen, stuck in those moments that dragged on forever. Greg felt his stomach plummet at John’s words to Sherlock, and he glanced to Mycroft.   
_What are we going to do now?_

Mycroft glanced back to him.   
_I don’t know._


	18. Aftermath

John hadn’t said a word since the aquarium. Greg had called and called, he’d gone to see him often… but John had said nothing. Part of him wondered if it was because John wanted nothing to do with Sherlock anymore, and since he was married to Mycroft, Greg was also to be avoided. But he didn’t let that thought stop him from trying to be there for his friend. It didn’t matter how much John wanted to be a recluse, Greg wasn’t going to give up on him. 

He’d tried to hold him before the funeral, but quickly learned that was a bad idea. John hadn’t said a word even then. He just stared blankly at the coffin. He didn’t even interact with Rosie… Molly and Mrs Hudson had rallied to help, and John seemed to be accepting it without question. When Greg had tried, however, John had shot him a glare that made him back off instantly. It hurt to be rejected so much by his friend, but he shook the feeling off. He couldn’t deny himself getting worn down, however. 

Things with Mycroft were getting a bit strained as well. Mycroft was trying to help Sherlock as best he could, but as neither Holmes brother was particularly good with emotions to begin with, it was failing rather spectacularly. Greg tried hard to be there for Sherlock as well, but he’d been shouted at to leave him alone. Sherlock insisted that he be John’s friend, and that he couldn’t help John if he was interacting with Sherlock as well. It tore Greg apart that neither of them were accepting his help, and that he was stuck in the middle of the rift that had formed between them. 

Mycroft sat in his armchair in the living room. He was worried for his husband, as well as for his brother. Gregory was exhausting himself in his attempts to be there for everyone and work at the same time, and it was draining him. Mycroft didn’t know what to do, though. Sherlock was resisting any help he tried to give, and any time he brought up Greg’s mental health, he’d be snapped at to care about John. He didn’t like it, but he’d found that keeping his distance, keeping up part of his façade, was all he could do to keep himself from aggravating his husband. 

He heard the front door close, and knew Gregory was home. Late, again.   
“Gregory?” He called out, and received a nondescript grunt in response. 

Greg walked in to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water. He took a sip, but then poured it out again in favour of something stronger. He entered the living room and poured out a glass of scotch before sitting down on the sofa.   
“Gregory?” Mycroft asked again, and this time was met by his husband’s eyes. They were pained and had dark circles around them.   
“Gregory, please… talk to me. You can’t keep doing this.”  
“I told you, Mycroft. I have to be there for John. I’ve tried to help Sherlock too, but he refuses… and John refuses… and … why won’t they let me help?” Greg said, initially in a stern voice but quickly breaking into tears. 

Mycroft joined him on the sofa and held him.   
“You care so much about your friends and family, my dear. I know it’s hard when they are hurting and won’t let you help. But this is just how things are right now. It’s going to be an awful time for us all for a while yet.”   
“I think you’re right, Myc. The universe does have it out for us.” 

Mycroft didn’t know what to say to that, so he just held onto his husband in silence for a while longer. Eventually, he spoke. 

“There’s something I need to tell you. Before Mary died, she entrusted me with a disk. She requested that I not see it, and that I pass it on to Sherlock in the event something happened to her.”  
“Alright…so what is it?”  
“I just told you, I didn’t see it.”  
“No, you said she asked you not to. You tend to take that as ‘look but don’t tell me you did it’. You Holmeses are alike in that regard.”

Mycroft huffed quietly, but then took a deep breath.   
“I have delivered it to Sherlock. I don’t know what it contained.”  
“Alright. Have you managed to convince Sherlock to see a therapist about it all yet?”  
“What do you think?”  
“Well, keep trying. If he won’t let me talk to him, and he won’t talk to you, he needs someone.”   
“I know,” Mycroft said, his voice laden with sorrow, “He is not taking the man he loves hating him very well. And he believes he deserves it. He told me he was the reason Mary was dead, and that he broke his vow.”

Greg screwed up his face in concern, but didn’t know what to say.   
“Hopefully whatever Mary says to him, if it’s a message, will help him get help. Maybe help John get help as well. Although at least John’s being more accepting of help than Sherlock.”   
“That’s good. I feel that Sherlock will be more likely to help himself if it’s in order to be able to help John.” Mycroft said. Greg agreed, and they let the conversation drop.   
“Oh, I stopped by the flat today after work. It was a particularly long day, and since I knew you’d not be home until around this time, I thought I’d get myself something for dinner there. I don’t like eating here without you, my love.”   
“I’m sorry, Mycroft. I guess I’ve just been trying to focus on work to try forget about all the other stuff.”  
“I understand. I just wish you weren’t away so much… it feels like I’m losing you.”  
“Hey, that’s not going to happen, alright? I’ll try harder to come home at the regular time. I didn’t realise how selfish I was being.” Greg said, sinking into himself in shame. Making Mycroft feel that way was the opposite of what he wanted.   
“My point was not to make you guilty, Gregory…  
“No, I know, but you’re right. We need to not have all of this pain and hardship be all we talk about. It is making things difficult. How about we be sure to set aside time where we just do things we enjoy?”  
“Yes, that is a good idea.” Mycroft agreed, and gave Gregory a squeeze before releasing him. 

“So, how’s the flat looking? We haven’t been there in ages…”  
“The flat itself looks the same, I have people that maintain it. However there is no food to speak of there… I had to order in.”   
“Chinese?”  
“How’d you guess?” Mycroft asked, grinning.  
“You tend to order that or Thai when you’re stressed and feeling alone. Your issues with food become more prominent when you’re stressed, and the meals you order from both places are usually fairly healthy. And if I remember correctly, it was a Chinese take-out menu at eye level on that fridge.” Greg recited proudly.   
“Very good, Inspector.”   
“So, any left overs, or do I have to order my own?” 

~

“Dammit Mycroft, why aren’t you surveying your brother’s flat if you’re going to watch John?” Greg asked, annoyed. He’d walked in to Mycroft’s study, to find him sitting at the desk watching the screen with concern. Greg had walked over and saw that it was a video feed of John’s house: various rooms and the front door.   
“I am doing it out of concern, dear.” Mycroft stated, not taking his eyes off the screen.   
“Hey, I’m not telling you to stop watching John. I get why, and after your obsession with watching everyone at all times saved my life, I would have expected you do to as much. Hell, if you weren’t watching him, I’d probably tell you to. My point was, if you’re going to watch John, why can’t you be bothered to do so for your brother?”  
“‘Be bothered?!’” Mycroft retorted, anger flashing over his face as he turned to look at his husband.   
“You think I haven’t tried? I have the outside of his place under close watch, but I can’t manage to watch the inside! He won’t leave the flat for me to hide the devices, and he has removed all the ones that I had there originally!” Mycroft shouted. Greg took a few steps backwards.   
“I’m sorry.” He said cautiously. He didn’t mean to make Mycroft so angry.   
“Gregory,” Mycroft sighed, “Forgive me for shouting. It is just especially difficult for me that my brother has isolated himself and I can’t ensure his safety.” 

Greg closed the gap between them and rubbed Mycroft’s shoulder. He eyed the screen, seeing John wander about the house aimlessly.   
“I wish he’d let me help.” Greg said softly.   
“As do I. He seems to be in desperate need of it.”  
“What makes you say that?”

Mycroft sighed again and frowned before looking up at Gregory.   
“He’s been talking to himself. Or rather, to someone that isn’t there.”  
“He’s hallucinating?” Greg asked, his gut twisting with worry. He knew exactly whom that person would be.   
“Apparently. I have noticed it happening more and more. At first it seemed that he was just distracted, or thinking out loud… but it’s become undeniable now.”   
“Fuck, we… we have to do something.”   
“I agree, Gregory, but what is there to do short of barging in and committing him to an institution? You and I both know that would make things worse, possibly permanently.”   
“Well, we can’t just let him keep doing this…”   
“For now he’s not endangering himself or anyone else. He’s kept it to himself. I believe it will be ok to wait so long as it doesn’t progress to a delusion.” Mycroft said, rubbing his face with his hand. 

Greg rubbed Mycroft’s shoulder a few times more before kissing the top of his head. He then walked and sat in the chair on the other side of the desk.   
“So, Sherlock hasn’t left his flat? Still?” Greg asked.   
“No. I am concerned for him.”   
“You and me both. He won’t return any calls I make. It’s really unlike him. Well… except for … you know.”  
Mycroft nodded. The last time Sherlock became this withdrawn and isolated, he was using again. 

“Well, since we both know what’s going on, why aren’t you doing something about it?” Greg asked, keeping his tone inquisitive instead of insinuating.   
“Excuse me?”  
“I’m not … accusing you of anything, Myc. I’m genuinely curious. You always tried hard to prevent Sherlock from getting back to drugs in the first place, you’ve always been so guilt ridden whenever he’s slipped back without your knowledge. I’m just not sure why you’re letting him be when it’s almost for sure that he’s using again.”   
“Because… because I’m tired, Gregory.” Mycroft said softly, and Greg could see the pain and defeat in his eyes.   
“You… you don’t think you can stop him.”  
“No.” Mycroft uttered, looking at the floor.   
“Why?”  
“Sherlock… he half-tried to end his life when he believed John was removed from it forever. John is his world. I know him, and I know that he doesn’t care much for his own life… but he’s never been strictly suicidal. I believe he will do anything he can to get John back while there’s still the chance… including going back to drugs as an attempt to get John to care for him. Nothing I do will stop him from trying when he’s prepared to do anything to get John back.” Mycroft explained, still looking to the floor. 

Greg stood slowly. He took a step backwards.   
“You…you’re going to let him destroy himself with drugs so that John will feel pity for him and look after him? After everything that happened you expect John to put himself aside and just start caring for Sherlock again?”  
“Gregory…”  
“No! I don’t care if you’re sick of this being an issue. I mean I understand it, I get it… but this is not the time to let him do as he pleases. I know I told you in Sweden to let him be an adult and make his own decisions, but there’s a time and a place. He was in a good place when we left. Now… now it’s bloody the opposite. And so now is the time you step in against his will to save him because god damn it Mycroft, you’re going to just lose him slowly with the drugs. It’s not going to make John suddenly get past all of this shit and run back to care for him like he used to, so Sherlock will just keep taking it until he dies!” Greg reasoned angrily, still not sure exactly how he felt about it all.   
“I don’t know what else to do.” Mycroft confessed, and closed his eyes. 

Greg left the room without saying another word. His emotions were running wild over him, and he needed a break. He still felt worn down, and he could tell the depression was creeping back over him. Greg tried hard to ignore it, to just focus on improving things for others, but there were times it became unavoidable. Learning that his husband was willing to let his brother-in-law fall back to drugs, potentially lethally, in an attempt to manipulate his mourning friend just was too much extra crap to cope with. 


	19. Avoidance

When Greg woke in the morning, Mycroft was already gone. They’d not spoken to each other since Greg had left the study. Greg sat up and groaned, rubbing his face with his hands. He knew he should have expected as much. Mycroft never liked confrontations with him, simply because of the sheer emotion involved. He couldn’t use his detached icy façade like he did with others to manage. Greg had wanted to have a conversation to try and sort out the issues, but it was looking like Mycroft would prefer to just let the distance grow between them than deal with the unpleasant conversation. Greg couldn’t stop the pain in his gut at feeling abandoned and alone. 

Greg tried calling John again on his lunch break, but at usual it went to voicemail. He left a quick message, about checking in and wanting to catch up. Greg then considered calling Mycroft, but it was more a reflex he felt to try and make himself feel better. The result was that he felt worse upon realising that Mycroft was one of the things causing him pain. He sighed and let his head hit the desk. He wanted to go out and have a smoke. 

Before he could stand, Sally appeared in his door with a handful of files. She began talking to him before she even noticed that his forehead was against the desk.   
“Hey, these all need to be signed off on and cleared before…oi, you alright?” She said, noticing Greg’s posture.   
“Errg. No, I’m not.” Greg muttered as he sat upright.   
“No shit, you look terrible. Maybe you should go home.”  
“NO!” Greg shouted, and then sunk back into himself when he realised his mistake. Sally raised her eyebrow at him.   
“Problems?” She asked, surprisingly without sneering.   
“Everything is one big problem,” Greg groaned, “And I can’t do a god damned thing about it!”   
“I… I know it’s not really my place to say, but I think talking about it with him would help.” Sally cautiously offered. Greg shot her a glare.  
“You don’t think I’ve tried? He’s avoiding me! John’s avoiding me! Hell, Sherlock is avoiding me! How the hell am I supposed to do this when no one will fucking speak to me?!” Greg shouted, and slammed his fist onto the desk. 

Sally gently put the files on his desk, but remained standing close.   
“Greg, as your friend, I’m going to tell you that you should leave on time tonight. I know you, and you’ll just stay here and work yourself to death to try and avoid it all.”  
“Yeah, that makes two of us.” Greg mumbled.   
“Huh?”  
“Not you. Mycroft.” Greg explained.   
“Right. All the more reason to not do it. Look all I’m saying is that you’ve been happier than I’ve ever seen you while with him, and so don’t fall into bad habits that will just make things between the two of you worse until it all falls apart.” 

Before Greg could retaliate, Sally left. Greg wanted to argue that Mycroft needed to be willing to talk as well for it to work, and that he didn’t want to have to be the one to ‘be the bigger man’ and suck it up since he felt that he was right in his position. But Sally had been right. He was happier with Mycroft than before, and he really should just put aside his pride sometimes for the sake of their marriage. He conceded to leave work on time and talk with Mycroft as calmly as he could. 

Unfortunately, no one gave Mycroft the message. Greg had been waiting at home for hours after when he expected Mycroft back before he relented and phoned him. It rang out, and Greg hung up at hearing the voicemail message. He swallowed nervously, and tried to just breathe. Two very conflicting emotions were raging up inside him: one being very concerned for Mycroft’s safety, and another being very hurt at Mycroft’s rejection. 

Suddenly his phone rang, and he looked at the caller ID with a slightly shaking hand. He grunted when he saw it was Anthea, and not his husband, but answered it anyway.   
“Greg, Mycroft told me to call you.”  
“Oh, now nice of him.” Greg sneered.   
“He’s currently at the gala event and can’t take phone calls, he wanted me to remind you of that fact.”   
“What gala event?” Greg asked, suspicious. “Did he just make up some excuse not to talk to me?”  
“Greg… is everything alright? Mycroft really is at a gala. He’s talking with the Prime Minister… he can’t take personal calls right now.”   
“Fine, fine. Whatever. I guess it wasn’t important enough to tell me about.”   
“This has been planned for a few months, I would imagine he told you about it.” Anthea reasoned, still feeling concern for her boss and Greg. She’d noticed today that something was bothering him, with him being more brash than usual, but hadn’t thought it was problems at home. 

“Is there something you’d like to talk about?” Anthea asked carefully. She didn’t want to overstep her boundaries, but she wanted to be a friend.   
“I don’t think I can talk to you about it, with you working for Mycroft and all. Just… a difference in opinion.” Greg sighed. He, now that he thought about it, did remember Mycroft telling him about some gala event where he had to bring matters before the Prime Minister (and thus, Gregory couldn’t attend).   
“Alright, well… I…will talk to you soon, no doubt.” Anthea said awkwardly, and hung up. 

Greg decided that he might as well make himself comfortable for the evening, since his husband wasn’t going to be back until late. 

~

Mycroft didn’t like ignoring calls from Gregory, but he knew that he couldn’t spare the time to have the inevitable lengthy discussion. That was better had face to face, as much as he hated to admit it. But not today. He was exhausted already by having to put up his cool, collected exterior around all of the politicians and dignitaries around him at the gala event. At least he could tell Anthea to remind him that he was unavailable, so that Gregory didn’t feel like he was being ignored purposefully. 

He felt anxiety grip him when he was alerted by his staff to a priority. He knew Gregory was safe, that he wouldn’t harm himself… but he couldn’t shake the panic in his gut. He excused himself from the meeting and went to meet with his informant. Relief washed over him when he heard that it was his brother, not his husband, that was the cause for the interruption. But then the worry twisted around him again, and found himself leaving the event. 

Mycroft didn’t want to explain to Lady Smallwood why he’d come in to the surveillance room. He didn’t like admitting to himself that he was using his brother as an excuse to avoid his husband. At least it was a reasonable explanation not to go home until even later, a time when Gregory would no doubt be sleeping. 

Sherlock was wandering about London. Mycroft tracked him as best he could, but his brother was elusive. As annoyed as he was regarding the words Sherlock was writing on the tracking maps, he was relieved that he was still lucid enough to do so. He knew that this was the perfect time to get John involved…just a little shove in the direction. To his dismay, John still wanted nothing to do with Sherlock. Mycroft insisted that his brother was a security risk, hoping that at least _that_ would peak John’s interest. It didn’t work, and in his desperation, he let slip more than he should have. 

He contemplated calling Gregory…but didn’t. He wanted to have the comfort of Gregory’s caring voice… but he didn’t want to encounter the pain and hurt that would undoubtedly be there. He’d been right, after all. John wasn’t going to come to Sherlock’s aid and have their friendship mended in the process. But it wasn’t just that, was it? It was the fact that Mycroft had left without a word. 

Mycroft clenched his hand into a fist a few times. Just because Sherlock’s scheme didn’t work this time, doesn’t mean it wouldn’t at all. He tried to tell himself that, at least. He still did believe that John would help… but was afraid of how much further Sherlock would go to make that happen. He didn’t like his little brother putting himself in danger; but he knew from last time that getting John to help someone else (Gregory at the time) was what helped him get through. And it mended things between the two of them as well. He had to just anxiously put faith in John’s caring nature to heal both himself and Sherlock… there didn’t seem to be another way. 

It was three in the morning before Mycroft got home. The lights were all out, and so he just put his things by the door and headed towards the stairs. To his dismay, Gregory wasn’t in bed. He tried not to let his panic take over, and tried to just go looking for more information before concluding that his husband wanted to sleep separate from him. 

With his body tense, Mycroft left the bedroom and checked the guest rooms. Neither showed signs of disturbance, and so Mycroft went back downstairs to search the living room for Gregory. He found him there, asleep on the couch. There was a bottle of scotch on the table and an empty tumbler; more than enough evidence to show Mycroft that Gregory wasn’t ok. Mycroft walked up closer to him, and noticed that his husband was looking fairly pale and drawn. He knelt down before him, and took his temperature by placing his wrist to Gregory’s forehead. He hummed in concern as he realised Gregory had a fever. 

Greg stirred and opened his eyes, blinking so that the form before him came into focus. Mycroft.   
“What time is it?” He mumbled, trying to sit up. Mycroft looked at his watch.   
“3:12.”  
“Where were you? I know the gala thing wouldn’t have gone on until now.” Greg grunted.   
“I had a situation with Sherlock to deal with.” Mycroft reasoned. Greg frowned at him, and stood up. He wobbled a bit from feeling dizzy, but just shook it off.   
“You couldn’t be bothered calling me to tell me?” Greg said, clearly hurt.   
“I… I am sorry.”  
“Mhm.” Greg hummed, unimpressed, as he walked out to the kitchen. He had to grasp the bench to steady himself as his head was swimming.   
“Gregory, can we please talk about this?” Mycroft begged, following him.   
“Yeah, Myc, we can. But not at three fucking a.m.! I am going to bed. I’m tired.” Greg snapped.   
“Sorry. Yes, that’s a good idea, you’re not well.”   
“What?”   
“You have a fever, you’re exhausted, and you look like you’re dizzy. Getting some rest will be good for you.” Mycroft stated, trying to stop himself averting his gaze. 

Gregory said nothing further, and walked up the stairs. Mycroft found himself in the awkward position of being unsure if he should follow. His husband was still mad at him for hiding all day, and so he wasn’t sure if he wanted to be left alone tonight. Mycroft didn’t want to be presumptuous and get into bed with him while unwelcome, but he didn’t want to make Gregory feel even worse by not joining him when it was expected.   
_This is why I avoided emotions and relationships!_

Mycroft sighed and decided that he’d just join his husband in bed. He could be yelled at for it later, but at least reason that he just wanted to be close. It was true, after all. 


	20. Care

When Mycroft woke, it was ten in the morning. He’d eventually gotten some sleep after his mind decided to calm down after four. He looked to his side and noticed that Gregory wasn’t there. He sat upright quickly, frowning. He must have been really out to the world to not notice Gregory leaving. And he wasn’t happy that his husband undoubtedly went to work despite his condition.

He reached and grabbed his phone, and called Gregory.   
“Yes, Mycroft?” Greg grumbled into the phone.   
“What do you think you’re doing?” Mycroft asked.   
“I don’t know what you mean.”   
“What are you doing at work?”  
“I have work to do. And you made it clear that we don’t have to tell the other where we are all the time.” Greg said, his voice starting to get raspy. Mycroft frowned. Gregory was still upset with him.   
“Come home. You need rest.”  
“Gregory, I’m sorry. I really am. I should have told you that I wasn’t going to be back until later.”  
“Yes, you should have. Hell, you shouldn’t have even been out that late in the first place.”  
“It was unavoidable…”  
“I’m not going to argue with you over the phone.” Greg stated firmly, and then coughed a few times.   
“Very well. But please, come home. You’re going to make yourself worse if you keep exerting yourself.”   
“What does it matter?” Greg snapped.   
“It matters everything to me, dear. I can’t stand you suffering and being unable to care for you. I deeply regret abandoning you, and we will discuss it at some point. But please, just put all that aside for another time, and come home.” Mycroft pleaded. He was surprised that he genuinely did want to take care of his ailing husband. Normally he avoided sickness of any kind. He heard Gregory cough, sniffle, and then groan.   
“Fine. But only because I should quarantine myself from my staff.” Greg sighed, exasperated. He then hung up the phone. Mycroft didn’t care for the reason. Whatever Gregory needed to tell himself was fine. 

Mycroft arranged to have the next couple of days at home for work, with only a few meetings where his attendance was required. He expected that Gregory would organise to take a few days at least sick leave, but he called his boss just to make sure. Almost an hour later, Gregory walked in. He was slouched over, paler than the previous night, and blocked up. He sniffled and coughed, and his movements were slow. Mycroft was torn between giving him a hug and keeping away from the germs. 

“Come on, let’s get you into bed.” Mycroft stated, taking his hand. Greg groaned and just nodded, glad to be cared about. He followed his husband to the bedroom, where Mycroft gently helped him get into his pyjamas and into bed. His body ached, and he was exquisitely glad to just rest his head on the pillow. He smiled as Mycroft put his wrist to his forehead, enjoying the touch.   
“You’re burning up, love. I told you you’d get sick if you kept waring yourself down like that.”  
“Cock.” Greg said with a grin, and then coughed.   
“I’ll bring you up some water. Is your throat sore?”   
Greg nodded.   
“Ok I’ll get some tea with honey and lemon as well.” Mycroft said, and kissed Greg on the forehead. 

Greg didn’t know how he felt so crappy so quickly, but he guessed it would have to do with him being so exhausted lately. Mycroft was usually right about these things. He felt only a little under the weather yesterday, pretty awful last night, and now it was like he was in the middle of a full-on bout of flu. It was nice to be in the warm, soft bed… and he found himself drifting off to sleep before Mycroft returned with his drinks. 

~

Greg had been asleep for almost four days. Mycroft made him chicken soup, and had insisted on feeding it to him in bed. It had been a sweet gesture, until a spoonful spilled down onto Greg’s neck. Greg had then insisted that he was well enough to feed himself from then on. 

Mycroft spent a surprising amount of time in the bed with him, occasionally gently stroking his arm or shoulder. The contact was nice. Mycroft had his laptop in the bed with him, files on the bedside table, and his phone by his side. He got up occasionally to stretch, left the house for his meetings, and brought up food and supplies. Gregory was often asleep and he doubted that the man even noticed how often he was gone. 

Slowly, Greg started moving about again. He would wander down to the kitchen and make himself food, or tea. He’d sit and watch some telly under a blanket for a few hours. His body still felt weak, but at least the cloud fogging his brain seemed to have dissipated. He was aware that he still needed to speak with Mycroft about their difference in opinion regarding John and Sherlock, but he still didn’t quite feel up to it. Not when he was lavishing up the attention Mycroft spilled upon him. He really did love being cared for that much. It was a new experience - he’d always had to deal with his sickness alone beforehand. 

Greg was making tea for himself and Mycroft when he suddenly remembered. Mycroft’s birthday. He’d forgotten all about it. Hell, he’d been asleep for almost all of it.   
“Fuck.” Greg uttered, and brought up the mugs to Mycroft in his study.   
“Thank you, dear.” Mycroft said, taking his cup off Gregory. The man then took a seat beside him.   
“Myc, I’m so so sorry… I was asleep for your birthday.” 

Mycroft looked up at him, and smiled.   
“That is quite alright, darling. You were unwell.”  
“Yeah, but I didn’t even say happy birthday.”   
“No, but that’s alright.”  
“It’s really not, you spent your birthday just taking care of me.”  
“Are you under the impression I would have preferred to do something else?” Mycroft said, smiling, with his eyebrow raised. Greg felt a warmth spread through his chest. He leant in and cuddled his husband. 

“I’ll make it up to you. It’s a shame, I had things planned too…”  
“Yes, I worked that out. The meetings I had scheduled were suddenly dissolved when I requested to work from home to look after you. You sneaky fox, you conspired with Anthea.”   
“Guilty.”  
“She told me that you wanted to do something special. I appreciate your efforts, my dear.”   
“We’ll still have cake soon.” Greg commented and let his head rest on Mycroft’s shoulder. 

He noticed that John’s surveillance footage was up on the screen again.   
“How’s he going?”  
“Still not good. He’s talking with her constantly, as if she’s there. I fear it’s become more than just hallucinations - he’s letting himself get lost in the delusion that she’s not really gone. Well, sometimes. Other times, he seems quite depressed and drinks.”  
“If he’s having a psychotic break, then he really needs help. More so than just for depression. We can’t just keep watching and hope it fixes itself.” Greg said with concern. Mycroft nodded.   
“I still believe that he needs to do this on his terms, since forcing him into a facility would break him further. My suggestion would be for him to at the very least, see a therapist again.”  
“You mean he hasn’t? Still?”  
“Unfortunately not. He stopped seeing the other one some time ago.”

~

Greg had ended up taking the whole week off. It was early Sunday afternoon, and Greg was enjoying the last few hours before going back to work. He was in the lounge, laying against Mycroft on the couch. Neither of them had anything pressing to do, and so were just enjoying some time doing nothing in silence. Until Greg’s phone rang.

“Hm, it’s John.” Greg said, picking it up. There was worry on his face since John hadn’t spoken to him since … the aquarium.   
“Well, you’d better answer it.” Mycroft said. 

“John?” Greg asked carefully.   
“Greg… hi.”  
“Hi.” Greg said briefly, not sure what he was supposed to say. He didn’t want to scare him off.   
“Um, sorry for calling…”  
“No, no, I’m glad…”  
“It’s just that I haven’t heard from you in a week and you usually call me once every day or two so I just wondered if things were ok…” John mumbled over Greg.   
“Sorry, I had the flu. I was out like a light for at least four of those days.”  
“Oh, well…you’re alright now?”  
“Yeah, right as rain. Listen, I’m glad you called. I’ve missed you, mate. Can we please catch up?” Greg asked hopefully. He heard John sigh heavily.   
“Sure, Greg. We can catch up. When?”  
“Well I’m free all afternoon?”  
“Yeah, yeah that sounds alright. I’ll see you soon then.” John stated, and hung up. 

“Sounds like progress.” Mycroft commented as Greg put his phone down.   
“Hopefully.” Greg stated, and stood up. “I’ll be back for dinner, probably. I’ll call you if it’s anything different.”  
“Thank you.” Mycroft stated, a twinge of guilt tugging at his stomach. They still hadn’t really talked about what had happened, and neither seemed to be willing to. There were just passive aggressive comments thrown in conversation here and there. 


	21. Mary's Message

“Hey.” Greg said into the phone.   
“Hello, Gregory.” Mycroft responded affectionately.  
“Are you still in Sherlock’s flat?”  
“Yes, he’s certainly made quite the mess of it all.”  
“No luck finding out why he’s obsessed with Culverton Smith?”  
“Unfortunately not, my dear.”  
“Do you… I mean, do you think it’s possible that he’s… I don’t know… right?” Greg asked hesitantly.  
“Anything is possible, but to determine so from this wreckage would take time. Why, has something happened?”  
“John was brought in for assaulting Sherlock, in defence against Culverton Smith. Sherlock is convinced that he’s a serial killer, and he was high, and then there was a scalpel…”  
“Oh dear.” Mycroft uttered in genuine concern.  
“I have the report, Mycroft. I… I’m… I am still very angry that you let him do this to himself.”  
“Gregory…”  
“No, Mycroft. He only had weeks left doing things this way. Fucking WEEKS. But…that’s not why I called. I … I can’t get into this with you on the phone, I need to see those reactions on your face that betray your voice.”  
“Then why are you calling?” Mycroft hissed, clearly not impressed with his husband’s accusations…but more so upset with himself for allowing them to be true.   
“John told me he’s done with Sherlock. He’s going to say goodbye now. Hell, he tried saying goodbye to _me_. Your plan has failed, and John’s not going to be saving Sherlock. So you’d better find something in that mess to help him.”   
“Gregory, I must go. I need to call John.” Mycroft said quickly, and hung up. 

Greg looked at the phone with a frown.   
“Well goodbye to you too!” He shouted at it, and then sighed in frustration. He pocketed his phone, and remained at his desk, looking through files. He’d stay there all night if he had to, anything to keep his mind occupied and away from the darkness that threatened to creep in.

Mycroft allowed himself a pained expression as he hung up the phone summoning John. The rift between Gregory and himself was getting wider the longer they left he issue untouched, and the more serious Sherlock’s self-destruction became evident. He wanted to have a word with Mrs Hudson, as he’d asked her to make sure he wasn’t in too much danger. He knew the woman didn’t especially like him, but he knew that was because he’d often not really given her much to like. Most of his interaction with her came across as him being the detached obsessive controlling older brother of her adopted son. 

John arrived, and Mycroft quickly got to the point, hoping that he wouldn’t allow John the opportunity to deny helping. He did not like the tone John started using with him, and in his panic, he fumbled an excuse. Poorly. Of course admitting that he ‘misspoke’ was practically an admission that he was lying. Mycroft clenched his jaw and the muscles in his body tensed as John guessed that they had another brother. Mycroft denied it, but he knew it was, again, poorly done. He was having to spend too much of his brain space controlling his body to not reveal the panic thrumming in his chest at the secret being discovered. 

Thankfully, relatively speaking, Mrs Hudson arrived. Mycroft did not appreciate her comments, but tried to stay focused. And that’s when he saw the envelope he’d delivered to Sherlock’s flat. He was immensely curious as to what the disk contained, but found himself dismissed by Mrs Hudson. 

Once out in the hall, alone, he let his body shake. He hated that John had found out his longest, biggest secret from his own carelessness, hated being called a reptile by Martha, hated having to maintain an icy exterior all the time just to function. And he hated that the only person he could talk to about it was currently (and rightly) angry with him. He got into his car, and requested to be taken home. He wanted to drink himself into a stupor, but knew he shouldn’t. He decided he’d just curl up somewhere instead. 

Only three files later, Greg’s phone rang. He was tempted to ignore it, but he knew that he’d pay for it later on. He grumbled as he pulled it out of his pocked, ready to snap at Mycroft, when he saw that it was John calling instead. His anger subsided as curiosity piqued.   
“John?”  
“Greg, where are you?”  
“I’m still at the office, why?”  
“I need your help, it’s about Sherlock.”  
“I thought you weren’t getting involved…”  
“Not now! Greg… he’s in danger. Please, I don’t think he’s safe.”  
“No, he’s fine. I’ve got a man on the door. What do you think’s happened?”  
“I don’t know, something! Mary left a message.”  
“What message?” Greg asked, confused. And then he remembered the disk that Mycroft said he’d been entrusted with.   
“She told him to put himself in harm’s way so I’d save him.”  
“Why?”  
“Cause she thinks that’d save me…”  
“Alright, I’ll call the guard.” Greg said, hearing how worked up John was. Just hearing his tone of voice was enough to get Greg concerned as well. 

The constable said the door was locked, and then disappeared. He shouted into the phone, but the constable wasn’t holding the phone to his ear. All Greg could hear was scraping and distant voices. He hung up and tried calling John again, but to no avail. He was left sitting in his office, panicking, wishing that _someone_ would give him updates. Greg decided that putting aside his anger for the sake of knowing the situation was more important than remaining annoyed at his husband, and so phoned Mycroft. 

“What’s happening?” Greg blurted into the phone as soon as he heard the phone being answered.   
“Huh? Gregory?”  
“I can’t reach any of them… what’s going on?”  
“Gregory, please explain, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Mycroft said, frowning. He’d hoped that it was a ‘check in with how you’re doing’ call. Apparently not.   
“So you don’t know? John’s off to the hospital thinking Sherlock’s in danger and I lost contact with my man outside his door!” Greg grumbled, pulling on his jacket. There was only one way left to get the information he needed.   
“Dear god… you don’t think …?”  
“I don’t know what to think! I’m on my way, will you meet me there?”  
“Certainly.” Mycroft stated, abandoning any resentment regarding their argument, and hung up the call. 

Sherlock throwing his life away seemed to bring them closer together, and Greg hoped that it would be a habit quickly extinguished. 

~

Greg arrived at the hospital room to find his man holding Culverton Smith, clad in handcuffs, and John sitting on the bed with Sherlock. The two men were laughing. Greg grinned at the sight of them. He gave a pointed look to John, silently asking him if he’d put their previous conversation in the past. John returned the look, nodding gently. Greg looked to the floor, smiling, and back up at them. 

Before he could say anything, Mycroft appeared at his side. He was disheveled, panting, and frantic. Greg held him close, using his body as a blockade from Sherlock’s gaze, and whispered it was all ok to him repetitively. Mycroft’s tension eased, and he stood himself up straight. He flattened the curl of hair that sprung free atop his head, shifted his clothing back into its appropriate place, and then approached the bed where Sherlock lay. 

“I’m glad you’re ok, little brother. However, we will need to have a serious talk about your behaviour.” Mycroft spoke quietly.   
“Hey, I was just doing as Mary told me to.” Sherlock rebutted with a grin. Mycroft’s eyebrow raised questioningly.   
“The video that Mary left. She told him to put himself in harm’s way so I’d save him. She said it was the only way to help me.” John explained with a frown. 

Mycroft inclined his head gently, and then shot a look Gregory’s way.   
_I told you I was right._

Greg frowned in response.   
_Not now._

“So Sherlock did all this… for me. The drugs, Culverton Smith… fuck, I walked in and the wanker was suffocating him. It was all… so fucking close. I’m just sorry I wasn’t the man you all thought I was.” John said, with both disbelief and dismay.   
“I’m just glad that things are alright again.” Greg said, approaching the bed, making it obvious he was ignoring Mycroft’s stare.   
“They aren’t yet. But… I think they will be. Eventually.” John said, looking down at Sherlock. Mycroft remained staring at Greg.   
“Right. Well, I’d better go see to Smith’s incarceration.” Greg exclaimed, noting the awkwardness in the air, and made to leave.   
“No, Gregory. Leave it for someone else for a change. You can deal with the interrogation yourself, but at a later time.” Mycroft said with authority. Greg sighed and conceded. 

The three of them left the room to let Sherlock rest. They stood in awkward silence, both Greg and Mycroft not looking at each other. Neither of them wanted to go home where ‘the talk’ would be waiting for them, but the unspoken words hung heavily in the air.   
“Whatever’s going on between you two, go get it sorted.” John snapped suddenly. Both men looked at him.   
“It’s obvious there’s something, about Sherlock it seems. I saw the looks. Now, go. I’ve only just got my shit together, we don’t need the rest of the family fighting as well.” John stated, and walked away.


	22. Working It Out

Greg breathed deeply as he stood at the kitchen bench. Mycroft had seated himself at the kitchen table, and Greg was putting the kettle on.   
“I’m sorry, Gregory, for avoiding you.” Mycroft said.   
“You have to know how I feel when you shut me out like that.”   
“I have become aware, yes. I did not think at the time. However I must point out that it was you that walked out first.”  
“Because I couldn’t take it, Mycroft. I was angry at you for what you were willing to let happen, and honestly, I still am. Sherlock’s in the hospital suffering from kidney failure and was almost killed tonight!” Greg said, initially calm, but ended up raising his voice at the end. He wanted to have a rational discussion and not a screaming match. Mycroft looked at him with a cold stare, but Greg could see the slight tremor in his eyebrow.   
“That doesn’t change the fact that you snapped at me and left for the rest of the night.”  
“And in response you left for work without a word and I’ve barely heard from you since.”  
“Not that you have been trying to talk to me either, Gregory.” Mycroft responded. 

The kettle finished boiling, and Greg prepared two cups.   
“I’m trying hard not to get angry.”  
“But you clearly are.”  
“Yes, but irrationally shouting at you isn’t going to help. You’ll run, and I’ll be left alone and hurt even more. No, we have to try talk about it calmly.” Greg said, taking a seat opposite Mycroft and passing him his tea.   
“I don’t understand what there is to talk about. I’ve apologised for shutting you out, and it turns out I was right about Sherlock.”  
“No, Myc, you weren’t. Just because Mary believed the same as you, doesn’t make what you allowed happen alright.” Greg said, frowning. He noted Mycroft’s jaw clenching, and knew that meant he was trying hard to stay and talk but couldn’t make any words come out. He only did that when he was tense and trying to keep himself in check. Mycroft’s expression of anger was much scarier than the criminals he regularly dealt with simply because of how calm it appeared. Greg sighed and continued. 

“Sherlock is an adult, yes. I know I told you to let him make decisions himself. I had expected you to be more reasonable about it, though. Allowing such self destruction can’t happen again. And it’s…I worry that you’ll apply that same rationality to me in the future.”  
“How so?” Mycroft managed to ask.   
“I don’t want to find myself back in a hard place because of whatever happening, and you decide to just leave me to it.”  
“Gregory, I would never…”  
“But you did with Sherlock.”  
“Sherlock continued to refuse the help I gave. He saw John’s therapist once, and I thought that maybe he was listening to me. By the time I realised that he’d not gone back, he’d already started the drugs. I knew what he was trying to do… well, not that Mary had told him to do it, and not knowingly to help John.”  
“I just don’t understand why you didn’t step in. You were willing to save him yourself from the mission in Eastern Europe… and then suddenly you’re letting him kill himself with drugs?”  
“I believed I was doing the right thing. I had hoped that John would step in. I could have, but it’d be just me taking over his life again, and he’d fight me. All the good that happened to him since John, all the changes… it would all be for nought.”  
“Still, even so, Mycroft. I was also upset that you’d put John in that position.”  
“When Sherlock jumped, and you both were grieving, John was in a similar place. He tried to move on with his life, like he did this time. But it wan’t until you needed him that he actually started getting better. I had thought that the same would happen here. I was not being inconsiderate to John in the slightest, merely attempting to replicate his recovery last time. John Watson is a strong, resilient man. He needs excitement and adrenaline in his life, but he also needs to feel needed just as much. Taking care of people gives him a purpose and that sense of purpose has helped him recover from a lot.” Mycroft explained in his detached manner. The silence that followed was unsettling for him as Gregory processed the information. 

“You… you really did think it all through, didn’t you? You weren’t just … forcing John to pick up the slack that you didn’t want to take anymore?” Greg asked slowly.  
“Heavens no, Gregory. I honestly believed it would help…and, eventually, I was right. John realising that Sherlock needed him was the turning point for him as we’ve seen tonight.”

Greg studied his cup carefully. In a way, he’d known Mycroft’s reasoning all before. But he just really needed to hear it. Mycroft’s expression remained steadfast, and Greg knew he wasn’t done.   
“What is it?” He asked.   
“I have apologised to you for my behaviour, and yet I have heard no such admission for your own.”  
“What behaviour are you talking about?”  
“You not talking to me. Even if it was in response to my aversion, you still took out your anger on me resulting from my decisions.”  
“Because they were bad decisions!”  
“Yes! Alright? Letting Sherlock almost die because of this was a bad decision, one that I will have to live with for the remainder of my life.” Mycroft snapped, and turned his head away, crossing his arms. 

There was silence for a time. Greg finished off his tea, and Mycroft continued to look away.   
“I’m sorry.” Greg said. Mycroft moved to look at him. “You’re right, I … I didn’t try very hard to keep you included. I shouldn’t have stormed off. There were times that you tried to talk and I didn’t want to listen. I’m sorry. I will try to listen more in the future. But please, don’t drift away from me again. You’re all I have, and these past weeks where I haven’t been able to turn to you have been…” Greg said, his throat closing up rendering him incapable of continuing without crying. He didn’t want to cry. He felt he did too much of that as it was. Mycroft’s shoulders loosened and he let his arms fall into his lap.   
“Thank you. I will endeavour to remain talking to you even when things get difficult. I partly didn’t want to hear it because I was so afraid that you were right, and that I was indeed a horrible person.”  
“I never said you were.”  
“But I felt it. I still do. I can’t do this alone, anymore, Gregory. I, too, felt as if I couldn’t function without having you to turn to, and that scared me. I never realised how dependant I’d become on your presence, on your support.”  
“It’s ok to be scared, Myc. But you’re my husband. You’re allowed to need me.” Greg said quietly, and reached his hand out across the table. Mycroft smiled gently and took it. 

“So, together through it all, alright? No more keeping to ourselves. Or putting family in danger.” Greg said, and Mycroft nodded.   
“Yes. Agreed. In light of that, I believe we should all take turns in watching over Sherlock.”  
“You think he’ll try to keep using again?”  
“I cannot be sure. But I will not allow it to continue.”   
“That’s my Mycroft.” Greg said with a smile, and stood to move and kiss him. Mycroft accepted happily, moving his hand up to stroke softly against Gregory’s cheek. 

~  


Greg and Sherlock spoke a little about the events that happened, but mostly they just tried to talk of other things. Cases, mostly. Sherlock was indeed on the mend, but was finding the constant babysitting rather tedious. He at least didn’t fight it. 

Greg was glad things were healing between Sherlock and John. As a result, John had been more willing to talk with Greg, and generally a lot happier. John even allowed Greg to babysit Rosie again, much to Mycroft’s apparent distaste. Work made it difficult for him to watch her often, since John liked to spend time with her on weekends, but Greg was adamant to find the time. He also was immensely glad that Mycroft was warming up to her the more time he spent around her. 

Things with Mycroft had been normal again. The British Government’s job was still stressful, as was his own, but at least they shared their day and could put it all out of their minds and focus on enjoying time together. 

Mycroft returned home to find Greg cooking dinner. Greg beamed at him and planted a kiss on his cheek.   
“Welcome home, hun.” He said, still holding the saucepan.   
“Glad to be here.” Mycroft responded, but there was something bothering him.   
“What is it?” Greg asked, putting the pan down on the stove.   
“I… something strange happened.”   
Greg turned the gas off. He knew this could be a long conversation.   
“What’s up?” He asked with a smile. Mycroft frowned.   
“My colleague, Lady Smallwood. She… did something peculiar.”   
“Like?” Greg asked, still standing in the kitchen, with his back to the stove. He crossed his arms as he leant backwards against it.   
“We were working in my office. It was a particularly gruelling case. After some time, we finally came up with a solution. However, as we were making to leave, she turned to me and gave me a card with her phone number on it.”  
“Alright…”   
“It was her personal phone number. She told me to call it if I wanted to get a drink sometime.”   
Greg felt his stomach drop, but remained in control of himself as he looked at Mycroft.   
“And? What did you say?”  
“I asked: ‘of what?’”  
“Myc,” Greg laughed, “She was asking you out. What you drank wasn’t important.”  
“Oh…no, she… she couldn’t have. I’m married! And gay!” Mycroft defended, hoping that Gregory didn’t think he was open to cheating on him.   
“Relax, love, I know that. But… does she?”  
“I… had assumed. I don’t take off my ring at any point.”  
“Yeah, but you wore a ring before we got engaged too.” Greg reasoned, still giggling at Mycroft’s horror. 

“I kept the number, in case she was just wanting to become …friends. I mean we’ve been colleagues for a number of years, but never really socialised outside of work.”  
“I mean it’s possible. So yeah, you could go out socialising with her,” Greg said, shrugging, “But be sure to tell her that you’re married to a man. One that could arrest her for adultery, mind.” Greg said comically.   
“Adultery hasn’t been a crime since…” Mycroft began, but Greg interrupted him with a kiss.   
“I know love, I was just having a joke. I do work in the field, you know. But seriously, if you want to have a social life, be my guest.”   
“So, you’re ok?”  
“Yes, why wouldn’t I be? I’m not jealous my husband is a sexy piece of arse.” Greg said, still pressed up against Mycroft, and so grabbed his butt cheek. Mycroft blushed.   
“Too bad for everyone else. You’re mine. I mean, I understand the temptation…” Greg continued, and placed a chaste kiss on Mycroft’s mouth. Mycroft stuttered something incoherent, which just made Greg chuckle and kiss him again. Dinner could wait a while longer. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I accidentally skipped this chapter when posting!


	23. Abduction

“Myc! I’m home!” Greg shouted as he walked into the house. He noticed that everything was dark.   
Odd. Myc was supposed to have the day off.   
“Mycroft?” Greg called again while he strolled into the dark room. He checked his watch. It wasn’t too late… only around dinner time.   
Perhaps he’s gone to bed already?

Greg walked up to the bedroom, his eyes straining to see in the dark. He flicked the light switch once he got upstairs, and walked into the bedroom. It was also dark, and upon being illuminated, Greg saw that it was untouched. Mycroft wasn’t there. He sighed. Mycroft probably got called into work. Greg pulled out his phone and decided to call Anthea to see if Mycroft would be home in time for dinner or if he should just get something himself.

“Hello, Greg. How can I help?”  
“Hey, Anthea. Sorry to bother you. I was just wondering if you could tell me if Mycroft would be home in time for dinner? I just don’t know if I should wait up for him or not.”  
“Greg… Mycroft isn’t here. He’s had the whole day off. He isn’t at home?”  
“I… I don’t think so. I mean I haven’t looked in every room or anything, but the place was dark and quiet.”

Greg’s stomach churned. It was unlike Mycroft to go anywhere without Anthea knowing about it. From the silence on the line, Greg could tell that Anthea was slightly worried as well.   
“I’ll just give him a call. He could have gone out to surprise me with something. There might be nothing wrong.” Greg said, and Anthea agreed.   
“If you don’t hear from him, call me. I’ll trace his phone and check the security footage.”  
“Alright. Thanks.” Greg said, and hung up. He walked out into the hallway and began calling Mycroft.

The phone rung, and Greg could hear the faint sounds of a phone ring tone from somewhere in the house. The situation was starting to worry him, as Mycroft never left his phone behind willingly. Greg followed the noise as best he could, and found himself in the hallway with the portraits. He hated how they were always illuminated from above, but this time he was just glad that there was some light. There was something…off. A suit of armour was on the floor.   
A scuffle? Was Myc abducted?

And then he saw it. He gasped. The paintings…they had blood dripping down them from the faces. His chest tightened as he slowly walked through. He swallowed when he saw a long thin blade upon the carpet, without a handle as if it’d been broken in a skirmish. Greg pulled his gun out and held onto it firmly. Mycroft’s phone had gone to voicemail, and so Greg called Anthea.   
“Anthea,” Greg whispered, “Something’s happened. I could hear Mycroft’s phone ring from in the house… but he’s not answering.”  
“Why are you whispering?”  
“I think he was abducted… there’s armour and a blade on the floor and what looks like blood on the walls. Have you found him?”  
“No, all footage shows that he hasn’t left. But I’m afraid the security system was disabled about two hours ago. I can’t tell you what happened inside the house… I’m working on getting it back up and running.”  
“Shit.” Greg cursed, creeping forward and looking into the rooms.   
“I’ll send a team in.”   
“Anthea, call him. I need to follow the noise.” Greg said, and mere seconds later, he heard Mycroft’s ringtone again. He paced forward and saw Mycroft’s umbrella handle. Just the handle. Greg tried to calm himself; his pounding heart was making it hard to hear the ringing of the phone.

Greg walked out into the entrance foyer. He cursed that the house was so big…it was impossible to tell where the noise was coming from as it reverberated off the walls. He jumped as there was a creak and a bang… instantly pointing his gun at the noise. He breathed and lowered his weapon as he saw it was just one of the windows open and blowing in the breeze. Mycroft never opened windows. It banged again, and Greg wanted to shut it. But he had more important things to do.

He strained his ears, but couldn’t hear the phone anymore. He could hear his name coming from the speaker of his own, that he held by his side.   
“What?”  
“I’ve determined that two hours ago, Sherlock and John came to visit. The security went out just as they arrived. I have them on some CCTV leaving roughly an hour later. They weren’t alone, though. Two others were following them.”  
“What the fuck is going on?” Greg snapped into the phone, and then remembered to keep his voice down.   
“I wish I knew.” Anthea said calmly, but Greg could hear the concern. Anthea phoned Mycroft again, and Greg continued to creep through the house towards the sound.

He treaded softly towards the living room.  
“The team has arrived. They are surrounding the building. I won’t order them in until you tell me, just in case we spook someone…if there’s someone. Alright?” Anthea said, and Greg hummed in response. It was all very strange.

Greg inspected the kitchen, gun first, and found it as deserted and dark as the rest of the house. He was careful to keep his footsteps light as he walked closer to the living room. He stopped at the doorway, and peered in. His heart froze as he saw Mycroft lying on the sofa, curled up, unmoving. He held his breath as he carefully scanned the rest of the room for another presence, but he couldn’t see any. He cautiously jumped right into the doorway, gun raised. But there was no reaction.

Deciding the room was clear, Greg rushed to Mycroft’s side.   
“Myc, Myc… I’m here, Myc…?” Greg spoke quickly, grabbing his husband’s shoulder. He was relieved to find that he was alive, and conscious, but still panicked to see him so pale and unresponsive.   
“What happened, Myc?” Greg asked, looking him over for injuries. As far as he could see, there was just some blood smeared across his chin. Greg lifted the phone to his ear again.   
“Anthea, I’ve found him. I can’t see anyone else in the house.”  
“Is he injured?”  
“I don’t think so, but he’s not ok. Something’s wrong, but … I think it’s something I have to work out with him.”  
“Alright, I’ll have the team move in and make sure the place is secure.”  
“Good. We’re in the living room. Tell your men to keep clear… I don’t think it’d be a good idea for people to burst in guns blazing right now.”  
“Understood.” Anthea said, and hung up. Greg could hear the noises of people entering the building, but he pushed it away from his mind. He just focused on Mycroft. He was looking as pale and out of it as when Sherlock had been shot. Something had terrified him… the scene upstairs would have to have been part of it.

Greg gently cupped Mycroft’s cheek and stroked it softly with his thumb.   
“Hey… Myc? Can you hear me?” Greg asked, close to Mycroft’s face. His blue eyes didn’t seem to register anything. Greg sighed and ran his fingers through his hair.   
“Eurus…no…” Mycroft uttered, and Greg frowned. It sounded like Mycroft was stuck in his mind again.

Standing, Greg went and fetched a blanket from the corner and draped it over his husband. He then went to move Mycroft’s body so that he could sit with him on the couch, but the moment Greg started to shove him, Mycroft flinched violently.   
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Greg stated with his hands held up in the air in submission. He then sat himself on the floor in front of Mycroft. He wanted to fetch the valium that Mycroft had been prescribed (he’d checked with Anthea), but Mycroft wasn’t really having a panic attack. He wasn’t … panicking. He looked calm, and so a calming medication probably wouldn’t help. He just wasn’t responding to anything. Not knowing what else to do, he called John.

“Greg, this isn’t a good time for a chat.” John said, his irritation clear from the start.   
“I’m sorry, but it’s important. Something’s happened with Mycroft.”  
“I know.”  
“What? You know? You… you and Sherlock were here earlier. Was he like this then? Why didn’t you call me? Why did you leave him?” Greg said all in one go. He gasped for a breath afterwards. It was hard to keep a cool head when he was panicking.   
“He was fine. Well, no, terrified. But that was the whole point.”  
“What? What did you do?!” Greg snarled into the phone.   
“Oh relax. We just shook him up a little.”  
“A little? John, I can’t even get through to him!”  
“Meh, he deserves it.” John commented casually.   
“He… what the hell, John?! Fuck! You’re supposed to be a doctor. No, more that that, you’re supposed to be a good bloke. Hell, you’re family for Christ’s sake!”  
“Quit putting me on some damned pedestal, Greg. I cheated on Mary, I pawn off my daughter, I attacked Sherlock, and I was willing to walk away when he was dying… I’m not that guy everyone thinks I am!”  
“… Ok… coming back to that later. Right now, I need your help!” Greg stuttered, overwhelmed by the new information.   
“She shot me!” John shouted.   
“For god’s sake, it was a tranquilliser!” Greg heard Sherlock complain in the background.   
“Who did?”  
“Eurus.”   
“And why does that mean you had to scare Myc shitless?”  
“Eurus is the sister he’s kept secret from Sherlock and everyone. I knew he wouldn’t admit to her existence unless he was wetting himself… and it turns out, he is terrified of her.”

Greg didn’t know how to respond to that. He had a realisation moment when his mind connected a few of the things Mycroft had said in the past. He was concerned that Mycroft was stuck in memories that were terrifying for him, he was so god-damned angry at John and Sherlock for doing this to him, and he was curious about this secret sister. But most of all…he was at a loss on how to help.   
“Yeah, ok, I think you’ve done enough.” Greg snapped into the phone and hung up. John was obviously not interested in helping. He turned his attention back to Mycroft.   
“It’s ok, Mycroft. Whatever they did to you is over now. Are you hurt anywhere?” Greg asked softly, noticing the blood streak again. It could have just been from the walls upstairs, or the cut on his thumb that Greg noticed. He didn’t know what else to do than stroke Mycroft’s hair softly.

He’d seen Sherlock stay frozen in his ‘mind palace’ for days once, and hoped that this wasn’t going to be a similar thing. Generally it was only a few hours that Sherlock remained cut off from the world inside his brain… but that was electively. It could be different for Mycroft. Greg leant forward and kissed his husband’s forehead.   
“Gregory?” Mycroft mumbled.   
“Yes, I’m here love.” Greg said, smiling as Mycroft’s eyes shifted up to focus on him.   
“What…?”  
“Shh… it’s ok. Just lay still. You scared me, I’m glad you’re back. Just take it easy.” Greg comforted, stroking the side of his head. He could see the panic rising in those blue eyes.

Mycroft started shivering. Greg’s heart broke seeing him like this; he was always so vigilant about keeping it together, pretending that nothing affected him. The warning signs that it was all about to break were there, and Greg needed to know what to do when it came crashing down. He knew Mycroft just couldn’t keep going like this forever… his mind was fighting back. Greg figured that Mycroft had enough awareness to now let him sit on the couch with him, and so he slowly shifted in to sit in a way that Mycroft’s head could rest in his lap.

“Sherlock was here.” Mycroft said quietly.  
“I know. You don’t have to tell me what he and John did just now.”  
“It’s not…just… what they did. That’s not enough to make me… break. It’s what they said.”  
“What did they say?”  
Greg felt another strong shiver wash over Mycroft.   
“Eurus is out.”   
“John said she shot him with a tranquilliser. I have to assume that she is not supposed to be free like that?”  
Mycroft shook his head quickly.   
“I have feared the day that her existence would be made known. I have done all I could to keep it secret… I never, for a moment, thought that I would have to deal with her escape.” 

Greg kept stroking down Mycroft’s chest soothingly. He’d found that it helped.   
“Sherlock is going to have questions and I don’t know if I can answer them.” Mycroft said with a sigh.   
“Hey, don’t think about that right now. You can practice by telling me and answering my questions, but later. First you need to feel alright again.”  
“If my sister is indeed out of Sherrinford, then I don’t know if I can feel alright again.”  
“Sherrinford?”  
“We call it Hell. The highest security prison there is. It’s top secret.”  
“Alright. We’ll talk about it later. Right now I have to call Anthea and tell her you’re safe, and then I’m going to make you some food. I know you don’t feel like it, but I want you to eat something. Afterwards, we’ll settle down together under the blanket, you’ll take a relaxant, and then you can tell me everything.”

Mycroft nodded. He knew that there was no point in arguing with Gregory. He was always very firm when it came to caring about him, a trait that Mycroft valued immensely.


	24. Mycroft's Biggest Secret

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note for now: since I accidentally skipped chapter 22 in posting, I have had to edit it so that 'Abduction' is now chapter 23 and the new chapter is 'Working it Out' as chapter 22. This 'new' chapter is just the old chapter 23.

“Gregory, while I have told you much about myself and my life, there is one element that I am afraid I’ve had to keep hidden. It wasn’t just from you…it was from everyone. I didn’t have a choice. She was dangerous.”  
“How did you even keep her secret? I mean, you were all living in the same house. It doesn’t make sense that Sherlock doesn’t remember her. And your parents…” Greg asked, looking across the bed to his husband.   
“Give me time, dear. She was not living with us for her whole childhood. I am thankful for that, as it as very stressful to try and keep Sherlock safe when Mummy and Father refused to see what she was like. They were blinded by their affections for her, and I was left to be concerned for everyone’s safety.”  
“Why would you need to?”  
“I told you…she was dangerous. While Sherlock might call himself a high functioning sociopath, Eurus was most certainly a psychopath. Growing up, I was always ‘the smart one’, and Sherlock was, in comparison, the emotional one. He had difficulties understanding and controlling his emotions, whereas I learned quickly how to cope with them.”  
“Not well, mind.” Greg interrupted, but was silenced by a glare shot his way.   
“Eurus was something different. She was… a genius. An era-defining genius, at that. But she was not emotionally intelligent at all.”  
“How is that dangerous?”  
“She would often speak of life and pain as if they were not important considerations. I found her one day, cutting herself. My parents were crazed believing it to be a suicide attempt, but when I asked her what she was doing, she replied that she wanted to see how her muscles worked.”  
“Shit, how old was she?”  
“Five. I asked her if she felt pain, and she just asked me ‘which one’s pain?’”  
“Fuck yeah, that’s scary. Did she then try and do the same to you and Sherlock?”  
“I had kept a weary eye on her since very young, and tried to keep Sherlock separated from her because of the comments she would give that made me fear for his safety.”  
“That mustn’t have been easy for you.” Greg said, reaching out and stroking Mycroft’s arm gently.   
“No. But I had to do it. I admit it stressed me greatly. As you’d expect, my parents were not interested in my reasonings for fearing her. They scolded me for not being a ‘caring big brother’, and still refused to pay attention to the threats she’d casually give. That was, until, the incident with Redbeard.”  
“I’ve heard that name before. That’s your dog, right?”  
“No.” Mycroft responded solemnly.

Greg frowned at him in confusion. He was sure Sherlock and even John had spoken about the family dog, Redbeard. Even on one occasion he’d heard Mycroft ask Sherlock if he remembered Redbeard… presumably trying to refer Sherlock to a time he cared for something unconditionally. Greg noticed Mycroft was taking steadying breaths.

“This… this is the part that I have to keep secret. Sherlock still can’t know about this even if Eurus is back. Promise me, Gregory, that you will not tell him.”  
“I promise, obviously, Myc.”   
Mycroft nodded, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath.   
“Redbeard was Sherlock’s childhood friend. They did everything together. His real name was Victor, but he and my little brother spent most of their time playing pirates and so they used their pirate names more often. Sherlock was Yellowbeard. He was just a normal happy child when playing with Victor. But then that all changed when Victor went missing.”  
“What?” Greg asked, shocked.   
“No one could find him. When we asked Eurus to help, she’d just sing an incessant song that made no sense. Nothing else. Sherlock was beside himself, and dug hole after hole under the beech tree in the yard as per the song. I cornered her and told her that it was a boy’s life, not some silly game, and she just asked me what the difference was. Even my parents begged her to tell them where Victor was, since at that point, it was obvious that she had done something.”  
“How?”  
“What do you mean?”  
“How could she have done something? She was only, what, six?”  
“Seven.”  
“And this boy was a year older than her.” Greg commented, unsure.  
“Yes. But the thing you should know about Eurus… she can make people do things. She had a scary ability to control other’s minds. It took growing up with her, knowing what she was like, to be able to resist it. But others were not so lucky. Her skill at mind control only improved as she got older. I have no doubt she manipulated that poor boy into entrapping himself.”  
“And that’s why you locked her away?”  
“No, not entirely. No one could prove that my sister had anything to do with Victor’s disappearance. And no one believed me about her mind control abilities. I was only a fifteen-year-old at the time, and adults always seemed to consider themselves the higher authority on any issue regardless of the intelligence I possessed. It was what she did next that was undeniable.”

Mycroft paused for a moment, and Greg softly stroked his hand.  
“I caught a glimpse of her in her room one night. The sight shocked me. She had many drawings littered about, all of them about Sherlock. And all of them showing Sherlock dead. She was still drawing, and so didn’t take much notice of me. I just walked past as if I hadn’t seen her, but then I went into Sherlock’s room. I didn’t know what to do. I was convinced that Eurus was going to kill him, and they wouldn’t find his body. They hadn’t for Victor, after all.

“That was the first time Sherlock saw me have a panic attack, because I simply could not allow myself to be apart from him. He was only young, and so didn’t really understand why I was shaking and cuddling him tight. And he was still not coping with his friend’s disappearance. He’d become so withdrawn. I told him I had to stay with him that night, because I was just too scared to leave him alone with Eurus in the next room.”  
“Fuck, Myc, no kid should have to go through that.” Greg commented. Mycroft really did have a heart-wrenching past; he’d thought it was bad enough that he’d been roped into the secret service so young and then forced to stay there dealing with Sherlock while being suicidal. But it was seeming that the life he’d led up until then made that all seem the better option. Greg didn’t know what to do other that shuffle closer and hold him.

“It was a good thing I had been in there, because that night Eurus set the house on fire. I couldn’t sleep because of panic, and so I smelled the smoke early. She wanted to kill us all, wanted us to burn while we slept. I was able to grab Sherlock and carry him to safety. My parents made it out as well, as I’d shouted while running out and woken them. As horrible as it was, it at least showed my parents how much of a danger she was. My uncleRudy sent her away into a secure facility. He had always taken a liking to me, and was one of the few people that had believed me about Eurus’ behaviour up until that point. I guess that’s why he entrusted me to look after her.”  
“Fuck it goes from bad to worse…” Greg breathed.  
“Yes, but at least from then on things improved. Mostly. Sherlock never became the happy and emotional little boy he was before Victor and the fire. He was so traumatised that he didn’t even remember. He wasn’t coping with the emotions, and I knew that if he remembered it all… it could make him worse. So I helped him forget. I made Redbeard into a dog he played with, and never mentioned Eurus again. My parents were not so thrilled to be participating, but they agreed to not talk of her for ‘the time being’ for Sherlock’s sake.

“That was, until, Eurus started another fire. Uncle Rudy moved her to Sherrinford, the highest security prison there was. My parents were told she’d died in the fire. We believed it to be kinder on them; rather than having to live with the knowledge of the monster their child had become, and that she was permanently locked away in a top secret facility.”  
“It wasn’t kinder on you.” Greg interrupted. Mycroft looked at him with sad eyes.  
“No,” Mycroft spoke quietly, “It was the hardest thing I’d had to do. Watch my parents grieve, and be unable to ease it. It’s why I thought I could handle lying to you and John about Sherlock… I never anticipated how much more difficult it would become because of caring for you that much, or our relationship. Anyway, I, at least, had moved out at this stage and was working for the secret service, and so I didn’t have to be around them all that much. Sherlock didn’t understand what was going on. Uncle Rudy managed to get a psychiatrist to talk to my parents and convince them that it was the best thing for Sherlock’s psyche to forget Eurus. Since he’d already forgotten so much in the trauma, and that she was now dead, it would be the best option. I helped where I could to erase Eurus, but some things kept bleeding through.

“He never really stopped wanting to find out what happened to Victor. He didn’t know why, but he never could stop that urge to solve crimes. He graduated university as a chemist, but never did anything with it. His heart just wouldn’t let him forget.”  
“Hm, that does explain a couple of questions I’ve had about him for a while. In fact, this explains a lot about the both of you…”

“Indeed. Gregory, keeping Eurus secret has been a source of endless anxiety for me. I was constantly worrying that Sherlock would start to remember, or someone else would bring it up. Magnussen knew, and we struck a deal that I strictly shouldn’t have in order to ensure his silence on the matter. But if Eurus is free, then we’re all in danger.” Mycroft spoke to the covers, and then suddenly looked up at Greg with panic in his eyes.  
“She can’t ever find out about you, Gregory… I’m serious. She’ll kill you without a second thought…please, please promise me that you’ll not get involved. I can’t bear… I …” Mycroft blurted out, panting.  
“Shhh, Myc, relax,” Greg cooed as he held him, “I promise. I know you can’t do what you need to if you’re worried about me. I am worried about you, though.”  
“How so?”  
“This is something that’s been coming a long time. And you’re terrified. Even the mention of her being out was enough to make you get trapped in your mind. When you’re this emotional, you make mistakes. I’m worried that something will happen and you’ll misjudge, or that you’ll just break completely.”  
“I fear I cannot avoid this any longer.” Mycroft spoke, resigned.

They stayed there in silence for some time, until Mycroft spoke again.   
“John told me to go see him and Sherlock in the morning about this.”  
“Well, sounds like it’d be a good idea, love. Time to stop running.” Greg said, trying to be as supportive as he could be.  
“I don’t want John involved, but I fear Sherlock won’t allow otherwise. Eurus killed his best friend in the past, and I can’t let her do that to Sherlock again. But I can’t tell Sherlock why John shouldn’t be involved without revealing that truth.” Mycroft said, sounding lost. Greg just ran his thumb over Mycroft’s cheek repetitively.  
“Just ask, and if Sherlock’s adamant, you’re going to just have to leave it. Trust him. John’s been good for him, and can make the situation better. It might be beneficial to have him involved after all.” Greg said with a soft smile.

Mycroft kissed Gregory gently. Greg could see the love and devotion in his eyes, and couldn’t help but smile and kiss him again.   
“No matter what happens, remember that I am here for you.” Greg said quietly.   
“I love you, Gregory.”  
“I love you too, Mycroft. Now, get some sleep. You’ll need it for the morning.”

Mycroft nodded gently into Gregory’s shoulder, not wanting to break the contact. They shuffled down into the bed, and Greg lay on his side cuddling Mycroft tightly. He didn’t want to say it, but there was a deep worry in his gut. Somehow, Greg just knew that this all wasn’t going to end well. Things rarely did when it came to Mycroft.


	25. Explosion

Greg found that he was nervous all morning. His mind just kept trailing back to Mycroft, talking with Sherlock and John. He dearly hoped that Mycroft was able to talk about it all without breaking down, since he knew that his husband wouldn’t forgive himself for that. 

Sally had asked him what was bothering him twice before he relented and told her it was ‘family issues’. She suggested that he either stop worrying or take time off, and since there was no point sitting around at home waiting for Mycroft, he tried hard to focus on the work. 

That was, until, Anderson ran into his office. He was wide-eyed and pale, making Greg jump to his feet.   
“Explosion… Baker Street.” Philip managed to say, and Greg felt like ice water washed over him. He ran out of the room to see where exactly, to see what the response was, and more importantly… if his husband was still there.   
Mycroft’s phone went straight to voicemail. So did Sherlock’s. John’s rang out. In the time he’d called the three of them, Anderson had confirmed that it was 221B that had exploded.   
_I knew it, I knew this was going to happen…why, WHY did I let him go alone?_

Greg ran to the car and rushed to the scene. He didn’t even care that it wasn’t his division… at least, he dearly hoped it wasn’t. By the time he’d arrived, emergency crews were on the scene. There was rubble littering the street, but the building looked mostly intact - except for the gaping hole that was Sherlock’s living room. 

He walked under the tape, and didn’t even hear the officer telling him it was a restricted area. He just lifted his badge up in the man’s face, and continued walking.   
“Mycroft!” Greg shouted, aimlessly, as he rushed to the entrance. He eyed a paramedic standing at the door.   
“Have you got anyone? Are they ok? Was one of them Mycroft?” Greg blurted out to him, and the man had to blink to register the words.   
“Sir, four people have been taken to the hospital already. We are looking for further injuries. If you knew one of the residents, I would suggest contacting the hospital.” The paramedic spoke in his trained calm voice. Greg nodded briefly, got the name of the hospital (Bart’s, of course), and then returned to his car. 

He arrived in a fluster, managing only to say “Mycroft Holmes” to the desk nurse. She looked up the information on the system, asked for his identity, and then told him that Mycroft was still being treated for his injuries. Greg tried to pester her further, but she just sent him away, informing him that he’d be told the situation when it was more clear. Greg felt the rising anger in his gut, but it was quickly extinguished by the feeling of rising bile. He clenched his jaw and willed himself not to vomit, but headed for the toilets as quickly as he could. 

He heaved into the bowl, and then splashed water on his face. He caught eye of himself in the mirror: pale, drawn, sweaty, and shaky.   
_Shock, then. Brilliant. Well, I guess basically my whole family is here, so it’s to be expected._

He left the men’s room and sat in the chairs of the waiting room. Thankfully, it wasn’t long before someone came out to see him. It was a young bloke, either fresh on the job or still an intern. But he looked mature for his age and had a warm smile.   
“Greg Lestrade?” He asked, directing his attention to Greg.   
“Yeah? What’s happened? Is he alright?”  
“You seem to be having quite a day.” The doctor mused, looking at his clipboard.   
_Yeah, that’s obvious, mate.  
_ “I have you down as an emergency contact for three of the four people brought in from the explosion.”  
“Yes… my husband, his brother, and my best mate.” Greg spoke sternly.   
“Very big day, then. The good news is that they are all relatively fine. A few large cuts, some scrapes and bruises, but really… they’re incredibly lucky.” The doctor smiled at him.   
The tension in his shoulders relaxed and he felt himself release the breath he’d been holding.   
_Thank god._

“Can I see them?”  
“Soon. We’re still finishing up their treatment, and will be assigned a room shortly. Your husband, Mycroft, took a fair blow to the head. He’s unconscious still, and we’re going to have to watch for a concussion over the next day. Dr Watson is awake, and Sherlock is fading in and out.”  
“Ok, thank you, doctor.” Greg said. 

He then pulled out his phone to call Anthea. She was aware that Mycroft was in the explosion, however was working out details for his hospitalisation and would be there shortly. Greg told her that apparently there wasn’t anything too serious, and she seemed to calm down a little at that. Still, the head wound worried Greg. He was worried in general, but more so about the potential concussion. The brain was delicate. 

He was escorted to Mycroft’s room after another twenty minutes. Anthea had arranged for Mycroft to have a private room, and for Sherlock and John to share. He paused in the doorway when he saw his husband laying in the hospital bed, a large bandage wrapped around his head, and a few scrapes up along his arms. Greg approached and sat on the seat beside him.   
“You have no fucking idea how relieved I am, Mycroft. You could have died.” Greg spoke to the motionless body. “But don’t think I’m not still worried as hell.” 

Greg was surprised that there weren’t any scrapes to his face, but reasoned that Mycroft undoubtedly managed to shield that part of himself from the blast. He gave his hand a light squeeze, before leaving to find John and Sherlock’s room. He needed to see that they were alright as well, and hopefully find out what had happened. 

“Hey.” Greg said as he walked in.   
“Hey, Greg.” John responded with a smile. Sherlock looked at him and groaned.   
“How are you feeling?”  
“Like I jumped out of an exploding apartment.” John said monotonously, and then chuckled. “Nah, I’m actually pretty alright. I’m surprised neither of us broke any bones. Gonna have a hell of a bruise in a few places, though.”   
“Yeah, how did you manage that? What happened?”  
“Well, we were all talking about Eurus in the living room. And then suddenly, a drone flies in from the kitchen with a damned explosive on top of it… motion-activated. The moment any of us moved, it would explode. So we waited for Mrs Hudson to be as far as possible from the blast, and then dived for the exits. Sherlock and I took the windows, Mycroft took the stairwell. He was supposed to go get Mrs Hudson. I hear she’s alright, so I guess Mycroft managed it. I haven’t heard from him though.”  
“He’s still unconscious. Took a bad blow to the head, apparently. How about Sherlock?”

“I’m fine.” Sherlock grumbled, but winced.   
“You just escaped a bombing, Sherlock. You’re allowed to be not fine.” Greg said with a grin to hide his concern.   
“Alright, I’m relatively fine then. Few bruised ribs, some stitches. I’ll be alright.” Sherlock spoke.   
“So do you know who did this?”  
“Eurus.” Sherlock stated bluntly. 

Greg sighed. He’d only known about her existence for what, twelve hours? And she’d already managed to almost kill the three of them.   
“Well, I’m glad to see you two are alright. Really. I’m going to just be in Myc’s room if you need me.” Greg said, and then left. 

He returned to his position beside Mycroft, and took his hand. Now that he was sure everyone was really alright, he let himself go. He slumped and let his head rest against the bed, and let a few tears fall. If he were less upset, he’d probably be kicking things in anger. He knew Eurus was Mycroft and Sherlock’s sister, but he _really_ wanted this woman dead. It wasn’t often he wanted that, but there it was. She’d made Mycroft’s life a stressful misery, she tried to kill them both on two occasions he knew about, and has proven even the most secure place on Earth won’t contain her. In a way he was glad that he promised not to be involved… it’d be tempting to just take her out. He suddenly knew everything Sherlock felt when shooting Magnussen. He would never actually do it, mind, but it was comforting his anger at the situation to think about it. 


	26. Those Left Behind

Mycroft woke slowly to the sounds of gentle snores. He went to shift in the bed to cuddle Gregory, but pain suddenly stabbed at him. He realised he wasn’t in his own bed. He blinked his eyes and realised that he was in a hospital room, and Gregory was sitting on a chair besides his bed. Mycroft looked down at his husband, softly snoring with his head on the bed and hand gripping his own. Then he remembered the explosion. He remembered being thrown into the wall in the staircase, and then managing to drag himself down to find Mrs Hudson. His head was killing him… he knew he’d taken a hit when the bomb went off, but was determined to finish his job of getting Mrs Hudson to safety. Once that was done, he had collapsed. 

“Gregory.” Mycroft spoke softly. His husband stirred, and then sat up to look at him with tired eyes.   
“Myc… thank god.”   
“I’m alright, dear.” Mycroft tried to reason, but Greg just shook his head.   
“No, you’ve been out for a while, Myc. The doctors were worried about concussion… you woke twice before but weren’t with it. You scared the shit out of me.” Greg explained, still concerned.   
“Apologies.” Mycroft said with a smile. Greg moved up and kissed him gently.   
“I’m just glad you’re alive. How all of you got out so unscathed… I don’t know.”  
“So it’s not so bad?” Mycroft asked.   
“No, really. Your head injury was the worst of it. A few stitches here and there, a gash on your abdomen, some minor internal bleeding that’s sorted now. And you’re bruising rather spectacularly on your back and side. John and Sherlock escaped even better than you.”   
“That sounds rather agreeable for surviving a bombing, yes.” Mycroft chuckled. “And it is most opportune.”   
“What do you mean?”  
“After a few days recovery, we can go to Sherrinford and make sure Eurus is contained. And by ‘we’, I of course mean Sherlock, John and I. As much as I wish John wouldn’t come, I believe Sherlock and he both would refuse otherwise. You are not setting foot near there.” Mycroft said sternly. 

Greg wanted to argue, but he knew he’d already promised to keep away. And Mycroft needed to be the detached, cold, intelligent man while dealing with this issue… and Greg’s presence would only cause him to make mistakes.   
“I still don’t think you should be going anywhere in your condition, even in a few days.” Greg said carefully.   
“I cannot allow even more time to pass should my sister be compromised. If you would be so kind as to bring Anthea here, I need to discuss the proceedings.”  
“Proceedings?”  
“Yes. As far as anyone outside of our family is concerned, the bombing has left me incapacitated on the verge of death. It’s the only way to ensure I make it to Sherrinford alive.” Mycroft said, and suddenly realised the implication he’d made. Greg noticed it too.  
“And once you’re there… how do you expect to leave alive?” Greg asked, fear coating his voice. There was a pause. Mycroft wasn’t sure, if he was honest. His silence didn’t help Greg’s reaction.   
“If you think I’m going to let you go on a suicide mission, you’ve obviously gotten brain damage from that blow to the head. Insist on it, and I’ll call the doctor.” 

Mycroft could hear the concern and dread in his husband’s voice. It was clear that Gregory was worried, but knew that he wasn’t able to stop Mycroft. Mycroft took a breath.   
“I cannot assure you that I will return, my dear, as much as I might like to… but that is no different than you being unable to assure me that you will return home in the evenings either. You are aware that both of our jobs are dangerous; this is not news to you. Please be comforted by the fact that I will be taking every security measure possible, and that I do very much want to come home to you and thus will do all that I can to ensure it. I have to do this. I can’t promise that I will be safe. I can’t promise that the situation won’t result in my death. But I can promise you that I will continue to love you with all of my being until the end, whenever that may be.” 

Greg sat in his chair, processing the information with deep breaths. It was very distressing to hear Mycroft talk in such a way, but he had to keep reminding himself that Mycroft was being realistic. And being realistic about death only sounded severe because no one else usually was. It was true that every day Greg went out to crime scenes or to the Yard after putting people away, there was a constant possibility that someone was out for revenge or a desperate means of escape. However, it didn’t placate the dread in his gut. He wanted to shout, he wanted to kick things, he wanted to exclaim profanities and question the universe as to why his life was so difficult. But mostly, he wanted to wrap Mycroft in his arms tightly and not let go. 

“I love you too, until the end, whenever that may be.” Greg responded, his jaw stiff.   
“Try not to worry, my love.”  
“Try not to worry? You’re going to visit your psychopathic sister who’s had it in for you for her whole life…and tried to kill you twice already!”  
“Then that should indicate that I am proficient at avoiding her attacks.” Mycroft said smugly.   
“Third time’s the charm.” Greg grumbled at him. He was pleased that Mycroft’s grin dropped immediately. 

Mycroft winced as he sat himself up, and then opened his arms to allow Gregory to hold him. Greg did so quickly, attempting to not grip too tightly. Greg knew that Mycroft was going, end of story. He always was responsible for his siblings, and he wasn’t going to stop now. Especially not now that the homicidal maniac that was the cause of his commencement at the secret service was apparently on the loose. 

~

Greg didn’t eat. He couldn’t sleep. Mycroft, Sherlock, and John were gone, and he was left with Rosie. He did what he could to take care of the baby, but his mind was elsewhere. He was glad that he didn’t have to work, as officially his husband was on his deathbed. The Yard had been sympathetic, and his colleagues had offered to help in any way. He didn’t know if they could help with this. At least Rosie was still young enough to not need much entertaining… just being held or placed on the floor was sufficient. 

Greg tapped on any surface he touched, and often had to remind himself that he needed to breathe. Mycroft had left the hospital only seventeen hours ago, but Greg was beside himself. He didn’t know how long Mycroft was going to be away, and so he didn’t have a time frame after which to start worrying that something had gone wrong. He didn’t know where Sherrinford was. He really didn’t know anything, and it was frustrating. 

He picked up the baby and held her close in his arms while sitting on the sofa.   
“Oh Rosie. Look at us: those left behind.” Greg sighed. The baby just looked at him with wide eyes as she sucked her dummy.   
“I’m going to tell you something that you’re probably going to have to deal with for your whole life. It’s hard to love a Holmes. They’re wonderful and amazing, but they make it hard sometimes. No doubt you’re going to hear about it all from your dad… or maybe even experience it if Sherlock becomes your father. But you’ll hear about it from your uncle, at least. 

“Sometimes they act like they don’t care… but they do, don’t let them fool you. They care so much, they’re willing to suffer for you if they think it’s the best way. You just have to tell them that they don’t always know best. As great as their minds are, they can be clueless when it comes to emotions sometimes. They need people like us, Rosie, to keep them right. Sherlock’s got your dad, and Mycroft’s got me. 

“It hurts when they think they’re keeping you safe by putting themselves in danger alone. Sometimes you want to just scream at them. But don’t ever think it’s because they don’t care. Really, I think they care too much. Mycroft keeps everyone and everything at a distance because he’s broken and sensitive inside and is afraid of letting people see it. He’s been alone with everything for his whole life, and so doesn’t know how else to cope. He plays the diplomat because he’s afraid of emotional conflict, and willingly suffers if it will keep others happy. He’s been through hell and has come out of it his own worst enemy. Sherlock is brash, rude, and acts like he doesn’t think you’re important… but even that is just because he doesn’t want people too close in fear of them abandoning him or hurting him. But he’ll do anything for those he loves. Absolutely anything. You have to just take it in your stride, little one, and look past it to the scared caring soul underneath. 

“I try not to think about it, but really… it’s all I can think about right now. Losing them. It seems that life around a Holmes is full of hardship… and I dearly hope that I’m not the only family you have left in this world tomorrow. I’ll take care of you, if that’s the case, I promise. Because life is hard, Rosie. But you have to find that thing inside yourself to keep going. Find that reason. When everything seems to be as bad as it possibly can be, and you feel like it’s better to end it all… that’s when things change, usually for the better. For Mycroft… it was having me there as a friend. Then for me… it was having Mycroft there as more. And look at us now: married, and I’m happier than I’ve ever been. Not counting all of the worry I feel for Myc. I’ll be honest and say I don’t know how I’d cope if I lost him now.”

Greg paused and gave a sad chuckle to the baby, who had started to doze off.   
“Listen to me. I’m getting old. I’ve seen so much, little one. I’ve been in dark places. I feel like I’ve done enough struggling for my life, now… but the biggest hurdle is still ahead. It goes to show that you never really stop leaping over them when you run with a Holmes. Mrs Hudson calls him a reptile… I told him that he’s a dragon, if that were true. Amazing and fantastical. When you walk with dragons… you see the world differently, and you wouldn’t give it up for anything. But you sometimes get burnt. Sometimes you end up falling from the sky and you don’t know if they’re going to be there to catch you. But let me tell you, Rosie… they’ll always come through for you in the end, even if it’s the last thing they ever do. We might be the ones left behind sometimes… but we are _loved_. Don’t forget that, yeah?” 

Greg tried to smile, but he’d started tearing half way through at the mention of dragons. Mycroft had been so happy with him to turn that painful insult around. Greg cherished the fact that no matter what was happening, he could still make Mycroft smile. The world was a better place when he was smiling… at least Greg’s world was. More tears fell at the fear of never seeing that smile again. He used his free hand to hold his face as he quietly sobbed, trying not to disturb Rosie too much. 

_What am I going to do?_


End file.
